


A Snake's Lover

by Becca_Lyn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Character Death, Draco likes Harry, Harry will eventually use this but he doesn't want him back, Horcruxes, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, May be confusing, Mpreg, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, Possession, Reincarnation, Sexual Content, Somewhat established relationship, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, reincarnation memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becca_Lyn/pseuds/Becca_Lyn
Summary: Ever since his second year, Harry has gotten random dreams he has connected to what he believes are his past lives. Even more concerning, he knows they have something to do with being in contact with his soulmate. Now on the run with only Hermione and a cursed locket to keep him company, the dreams have gotten much, much worse, and now Harry must admit that deep down he knows who his soulmate is.





	1. August

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm super excited to share this fic with you all! I plan on it being kind of short (and I have a sequel planned) and I know it will be kind of confusing, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

_ “Tom’s coming, he’s coming, he’ll save us,” he mumbled urgently, gripping the child, his child,  _ their _ child (though the adoption had yet to fully go through), to his chest. The sound of planes in the distance made him shudder, pulling the frightened boy somehow even closer. _

_ “Poppa, what’s happening,” the child cried, his hands gripping his robes as they huddled against the far wall of their apartment. _

_ “I don’t know, love. Planes have never been this close to us before,” never that close to the magical world. He had always felt safe there even on the outskirts magic hiding them from muggle view.  _

_ And that was when he felt it. It wasn’t just planes echoing closer to them, but the lingering ache of dark magic filling every pore. Wizards were coming, and it seemed a battle was about to happen on his front porch. He hoped Tom wasn’t about to be caught up in the storm, as he often did when dark magic was involved.  _

_ Crashes sounded from outside, shaking the man and boy to the core. He berated himself for allowing his lover to convince him to borrow his wand, leaving him practically defenseless with their child. Tom would come eventually, he knew, but they couldn’t wait much longer. They couldn’t hide in the dark forever.  _

_ “We need to move, Drago,” He already hated the words leaving his mouth, “Tom will find us, but we need to find somewhere safe.” _

_ Gripping the boy somehow even tighter, he prayed to whatever gods there were for Tom’s safety.  _

_ Rushing the door, he felt a pull at his core, allowing it to slam with a brave show of wandless magic. He barely paid attention to the steps as he glared at the ground, trying to drown out his child’s cries of “What about Dad!” He tried desperately to ignore the lure of dark magic, hearing the screams and cries of people braver than he.  _

_ “What’ve we got here?” _

_ Mentally cursing, he looked up to see the three brutes standing in the alleyway behind his apartment building. They eyed him hungrily, sending disturbed shivers down his spine. Fearfully he lifted one hand into his son’s hair with a quiet whisper of, “Hush now, Drago.” _

_ The poor boy didn’t seem to sense the danger, still crying out for his other parental figure, eyes lifted to the only home he knew.  _

_ He took a step back, away from the looming brutes, still eyeing him and his son like they were meat. He made plans to immediately run back to the apartment, ignoring his ideas of escaping elsewhere. The men seemed to sense his decision, racing forward as he turned to rush back up the steps.  _

_ With a shout, he fell, a hand wrapped firmly around his ankle. His boy, his poor child, hit the stairs with a pained scream. His eyes already turned towards his attackers, widening with fear as he saw their greedy looks and wands at the ready.  _

_ Releasing his child, he tried to push him up the stairs with a scream, “Run! Run, Drago! Hide!” _

_ The poor child looked lost for a moment, his eyes hazy with tears, before he finally pushed himself away from his father, trying valiantly to take the stairs two steps at a time as his father had before. _

_ “ _ Avada Kedavra! _ ” _

_ He screamed in agony as the green spell flew past his own body, hitting his child, still midstep. The scream overtook the entire battle, if only for a moment, as the man watched the boy fall limp against the stairs, his hand outreached in an attempt to catch him before he landed. _

_ “ _ **NO!** _ No, no no no no!” _

_ He could hear the brutes chuckles as they watched his agony, feel the hand still gripping his ankle as it pulled him forcefully down the stairs. He screamed, his voice cracking as a hand gripping his chin made him look at the three hungry stares instead of his child’s body. _

_ “Now that that’s out of the way, we can have some fun.” _

_ His eyes widened more in horror of the sentence, his limbs finally reawakening to attempt to scramble from the men pulling him closer.  _

_ “Tom! Tom help me!” His core shivered as he pushed it against the men, trying to escape their hands holding him down, but his magic wasn’t strong enough. He could feel his core shattering as he called out for his lover, knowing that eventually he would save him from this nightmare. _

* * *

With a gasp, Harry shot forward, his eyes wide and searching for his attackers. He could still feel their hands, their breath, touching him, searching him, making him feel unclean as his very being called out for someone to save him.

But, finally, looking around the darkened tent, Harry realized he was safe, or as safe as he could be, and that the thoughts still running through his mind were all from a dream. He was Harry Potter, not the adopted father of a little boy. He was on the run from the current Dark Lord, hunting down horcruxes. 

With a huff, Harry pushed himself up from his cot, quietly making his way to the exit. Hermione would be cross with him for leaving without telling her, but he wasn’t going far. He just needed to take a short walk, clear his mind for a few moments. 

The cool air of the forest soothed his thoughts, cooling the sweat off of his brow. He closed his eyes, allowing his feet to carry him a short distance from the tent, so he could think, just for a second, without Hermione staring at him, or the burning shame of Ron’s empty cot.

The locket burned, heavy against his chest as he moved through the woods, his steps silent except for occasional twig or stick that happened to get stuck beneath his foot. He felt no pain, not even the cool air distracted him from his movements, his mind on one place as he walked.

The small clearing he had found days before was a blessing, no matter how much Hermione tried to make it a curse. She tried constantly to force him to tell her where it was he was hiding when he was lost in his thoughts, but he refused. He needed peace, just for a short time, to get his mind back on track, and now that he had found the comfortable land he wasn’t giving it up.

Laying in the grass, he realized he hadn’t gotten a shirt, not that it mattered. The hands from his nightmare were still fresh in his mind, and he was content to let the moonlight wash the feeling of disgust off of his body. 

The dreams had never been that bad before. 

He recalled Ginny telling him that they perhaps meant he had come in contact with his soulmate, and he was gaining memories of their past lives together. It was uncommon, but it happened with powerful couples, and obviously, with ones that had been reincarnated together. 

He knew Ginny had hoped it was her. 

Something in him knew it wasn’t.

The first nightmares were in his second year, weak and blurry. Again in his fourth, after the disastrous tournament and Voldemort’s revival. After Sirius’ death it had been much worse, he couldn’t make sense between what were nightmares and what were supposedly memories. And now that he was on the run, it felt like he was dying. 

The books he secretly read on the subject had said it would get worse when he reached “magical maturity.”

The locket burned against his chest, seemingly laughing at any idea of Harry being mature. It pushed a sense of fear into his mind, because it knew, and Harry knew, though he refused to acknowledge it.

Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was Harry’s soulmate. 

Sadly, the villain was the only one who made sense, even in Harry’s denial. Almost anytime Harry had the nightmares, in the previous days he had had some kind of contact with the monster, whether it was the horcrux with the diary, or it was the man himself digging his nails so deep in Harry’s brain he could still feel it.

He had yet to see his so called soulmate in his nightmares, he was always alone or with a child (oddly enough as he knew of Voldemort’s dislike of children). He almost always died in these nightmares, having yet to have a happy memory of being with his soulmate.

Wasn’t his soulmate supposed to give him a sense of completion, of happiness?

With a sigh, he wrapped his hand gently around the locket, pulling it up to examine it in the moonlight. It pulsed in his hand, responding to his touch greedily. Harry didn’t know if he should be amused or disgusted.

He had long before taken full control of the locket, the guilt of Ron’s absence still weighing heavily on his mind. He couldn’t in good conscience let Hermione take responsibility of the horcrux when she was left heartbroken and in tears from Ron storming off. 

He glared at the locket in his hand, and somehow, he knew, the locket was glaring back. 


	2. Alexi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have tweaked a few things to make them fit how I wanted, and as I wanted this story to be kind of quick I didn't really explain Harry and the Locket's relationship? I might come back later and do a side story, but for the context of this story, Harry and the Locket often have conversations like this one.

“ _ Harry. _ ”

“No,” he grumbled roughly, sitting up, and glaring at the locket still pulsing in his hand. 

The voice rang out again, chuckling darkly, the smoothness wrapping itself snuggly around Harry’s mind, wiping it clean of everything else besides the sound. Harry almost relaxed, the lingering effect of the nightmare finally escaping him, but now he was being accosted by something much worse. 

“ _ Ouch, Harry, darling, you wound me. _ ”

Harry didn’t look up from the locket as he felt the ground next to him shift when another body appeared next to him. Too close to him. His shoulders and knees brushed against Harry’s, grazing him with the same heat as the locket. 

“I can do worse than wound you, Riddle,” Harry scowled when he felt the being next to him shift with laughter, its arm sneaking around his back and hand wrapping firmly on his hip.

“ _ Oh, Harry. Is that any way to treat the person who helped you remove those nasty thoughts from that dream? _ ” That smooth voice chuckled again, blowing warm air against Harry’s ear, and he could almost imagine that it was real; that he was actually hiding out somewhere with some mysterious lover, whispering sneaky secrets in each other’s ears.

But it wasn’t real, he was sitting in the forest with a horcrux, on the run from the very monster who made said horcrux. The locket burned hotly in his hand, only matched by the heat rolling off the body beside him. 

As if sensing his thoughts, a warm hand lightly gripped his chin, not allowing any refusal, “ _ Look at me, Harry. _ ”

Harry let his face be turned, knowing he couldn’t say no, feeling his nose brush against the older man’s. The darkness of his eyes absorbed Harry’s final thoughts, the self-absorbed smirk winning over his features as he looked over Harry’s relaxed expression. 

“ _ Foolish boy. Why did you wait so long to return to me if those dreams were troubling you so? You know I’m the only one that can help you, _ ” His voice, Tom Riddle’s voice, was amused, almost purring as he felt his power over Harry’s smaller form. 

“I thought just holding the locket would help,” he mumbled, calm washing over him as he stared into the other’s eyes. A quiet voice in the back of his mind told him this shouldn’t be happening, he shouldn’t be telling this to Riddle of all people. He shouldn’t be giving in so easily, soulmate or not. 

The elder hummed lightly, running his thumb along Harry’s jaw, eyes scanning for any falsehood. His smile remained present, overwhelming and proud, as he pressed a light kiss to the corner of the younger’s lips, trailing his way back to Harry’s ear as the haunting green eyes fluttered closed.

“ _ You know only my presence will heal you, _ ” Riddle hissed, his lips pressing faintly against Harry’s earlobe. “ _ You know it is only  _ **he** _ who will be able to provide you with true release, with the ability to find your memories completely and end this trivial game. _ ”

He found himself oddly proud at the way the younger shivered in his grasp, even as he began to shake his head violently, trying to break free from him.

“No, no, no, no,” Harry spoke in a mantra, his eyes watery as he tried to pull away from the offending memory, the  _ horcrux _ . “He wants to kill me,  _ you _ want to kill me. I’m hiding from  _ you _ !”

The horcrux rushed to calm him once more, his arms tightening over the tense form trying to break loose from his hold. He shushed him, speaking in hushed tones as he held him close, feeling his pain, his pure agony as he fought, before finally calming once more.

“ _ Tell him what you are, give me to him as a gift, and he will trust you, Harry _ .” He didn’t feel the need to mention that eventually he would discover the fact himself, and it would only make him angry to have the secret kept for so long. For his soulmate to be separated from him and  **used** against him. It would ultimately be better for Harry if he announced it on his own terms.

The horcrux pulled Harry’s chin once more, locking their lips together. The younger’s eyes closed, his body shivering under his touch, his throat releasing a surprised but pleased groan. The kiss was sweet and quick, Harry missing the connection as quickly as it was over. 

“I can’t.”

With a sigh, Harry finally released his grip on the locket, the weight hitting him solidly in the chest as he stood and walked away without looking back. He swore he could still hear Riddle’s infernal chuckle following him back to the tent.

* * *

  
  


_ “I don’t understand why I can’t go,” he mumbled sweetly, leaning his head against the door submissively. He couldn’t see the other man through the small window in the door, but he knew who was on the other side, what coward decided the door was a safe thing to keep between them. _

_ “Darling, you know you can’t go out in your state. This gala would have far too many people, I don’t want you falling ill.” _

_ A gloved finger reached through the small window and traced his cheek lightly, and he wanted nothing more than to bite at it. If only he wasn’t begging to be let out of this glorified cage. He longed to be around people, to be surrounded by them and their energy.  _

_ He fluttered his eyes innocently at the other man, reaching his hand up to catch the offending finger, feeling it curl around his. “Seraphen, my love, certainly I know better than anyone when to stay away! Surely I can come out for at least the beginning of the festivities?” _

_ Oh, how he longed to escape that room, where only he, his husband, and his healer were allowed. It was much too dull, being confined to such a small space, with so few people to be around. He missed hearing the voices of other people. He missed seeing other rooms. He would even like to see a hallway! _

_ He missed the people, being surround by their sounds and their energy. He missed they way they moved, the way the spoke, the way they sang. He missed the dancing and the fluttering of fabrics as they flew across the room.  _

_ He missed his husband. _

_ “What if something happened to you, darling? Even in the short time it would take to welcome the guests. . . And it’s not like you can protect yourself in this state-” _

_ He reared back as if he were struck, releasing the other man’s hand as he walked briskly back to the center of the room. He ignored the other’s calls, his pleas of forgiveness. _

_ “Just leave, Seraphen. Lock me away in some room. You won’t listen to me, anyway,” it was maddening, really. How dense his husband was.  _

_ He waited until he was sure he heard his husband’s footsteps echoing down the hall before finally collapsing in his grief. The cushion he landed upon was comfortable, but the agony seeping through his veins paid no heed to it as he curled inwards. He could feel the signs of tears, but refused to let the fall, refused the slightest weakness in the face of his husband’s cruelty. _

_ His husband, his love, his one and only soulmate. If only he would see that his mad attempts of safety were his worst form of torture.  _

_ He felt the tremors of sadness across his body once more, a quiet sigh escaping him as he tried to accept his fate. His magic curled around him soothingly, trying to heal its master’s pain and protect the small life it was hiding within.  _

_ With a sad smile he placed a reassuring hand on his stomach, feeling the calm heat within. The core of their child was small, but so strong already. He could already sense it growing within him, the steady warmth was palpable is it tried to strengthen and solidify.  _

_ “Don’t worry, your father is just being ridiculous right now. He’ll let us out, eventually,” he sniffed, hating how his words sounded unsure. Ever since they had discovered the child’s existence his husband had gone into over-protective mode. _

_ Or was it over-possessive mode? _

_ He rubbed his stomach protectively, pushing his thoughts of warmth and love at the growing child. It was a bit much, locking him away from everyone and everything while the child within him grew. Especially when he got his energy and strength from being around people. _

_ He only hoped his idiot of a husband realized that soon.  _

* * *

 

“Harry? Harry, wake up.”

It was a quiet morning, after Harry had rushed back to the tent and made an attempt to make use of whatever hours he had left until day. He tried to forget his conversation with the locket horcrux, but even as he felt Hermione’s hands shaking him, and opened his eyes to see her face, he could think of nothing else.

“Harry, we need to move,  _ now _ .”

The sound of her voice had him up, rushing to help her pack everything in a fury. He grabbed everything in sight, dutifully ignoring her sad eyes and worried glances at the locket bouncing helplessly on his chest.

“Did they find us,” Harry asked, breathlessly, pulling on a shirt to cover the sight. He wouldn’t let her carry it, not even ask to.

“I heard movement. Multiple people, whoever it is, they’re getting close. We’ve been in one spot too long,” she breathed a sigh of relief as they finally pulled everything together, the tent packed and shrunk safely in their pack. “I don’t know how they’re tracking us, but they are.”

They moved quickly, quietly through the trees, in the opposite direction of the sounds Hermione had heard. Harry realized sadly that they were coming from his secret spot where he and Riddle had talked only hours before. He shuddered at the thought of them finding him instead of the small clearing. 

It was getting harder to hide. It seemed that every time they found a safe space in the woods it would be quickly found. And every time they had to move was another chance of them getting caught. 

It wasn’t like they could use magic. With Voldemort in control of the Ministry, even a lumos would bring the Death Eaters directly to them. Only if they had to fight, and even then, only as a last defense. Use someone else’s wand if possible.

And even as they moved closer to their next spot, he knew it wouldn’t be safe. They would have to try again, and again, and again.

How long until he just gave in?

He swore he could hear a dark chuckle following them through the forest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and for any questions/comments/random updates check out my [tumblr](http://fairytales-andfuckery.tumblr.com/) (I do occasionally talk about other stories I plan on writing and even my personal works!)  
> And if you ever have an extra $3 and would like to support me and my work check out my ko-fi link on my tumblr page (or look me up under the same name).   
> I hope you guys enjoyed, and I'm excited to read all your comments! See you next time!


	3. Callum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is the longest chapter I have written. I had a lot of fun writing this one, and it's probably obvious. This is 2x larger than my usual chapters, but I just have so much muse for this fic? I don't know. I hope you enjoy!

_“Septimus, my love,” he leaned against the blond, grinning when he stiffened in alarm as his arms sneakily wrapped around him. He pressed his cheek against the other’s shoulder, greatly enjoying the elder’s discomfort as he looked around them in fear._

_“I do not want to get in between whatever is going on between you and Marc,” the voice was trembling, even more so when he frowned and squeezed._

_“What are you talking about? There’s nothing going on between me and Marc._ There never was _,” He all but hissed, feeling the eyes of his boyfriend, ex at the moment, watching them angrily from the other side of the common room. He knew what game he was playing, with an unwilling pawn, but he was angry, and wanted Marc to be just as angry, if not angrier._

_He moved, sliding easily into the lap of the blond boy, two years his senior, a slick grin on his face. He had already told Septimus’ betrothed of his plan, no need to get to jealous bitches out for his head._

_“Oh, my lovely Septimus, you know my heart has always belonged to the Malfoy line, you especially,” he kissed his cheek, loving the growing discomfort, and the feeling of something else, in the way his hands unsurely, but tightly, gripped his hips. It was probably the way he appealed to his bloodline, practically purring about his affections for the older boy._

_It didn’t help that he also knew that Septimus had never held any true interest in women, and for a while now harboured a sort of “crush” on him._

_It was cute._

_Personally, while he knew the Malfoy’s were very attractive, he held no such interest in them. They were all tall, lean, and elegant, often times too_ gentle _looking, too_ **soft** _despite their darker nature. Septimus was nothing compared to his actual heart, his love, Marc Lestrange, with his dark magic and cruel hands, and apparently, cruel words and cold heart. It hurt to do this to him, but the revenge against him would be so worth it._

_He kissed Septimus’ cool cheek once more, feeling the skin begin to warm beneath his lips. He was tempted to coo in his ear, ask him if he knew what he was getting into, but no, he needed Septimus plient, the way he had him at the moment. He was calm, still fearful, but slowly accepting his fate as his current plaything._

_He didn’t know Marc was in the room._

_With a grin, he tightened his legs around Septimus, nuzzling his pale, pale cheek, seriously thinking on marking the skin, just because he could. Sure, it was against his agreement with Septimus’ betrothed, but what was she going to do if he did? She wouldn’t dare threaten him if his plan went through._

_“Ca-Callum, I don’t think we should be doing this,” his voice was quiet, but oh-so-strained, “I have a marriage contract, and-and you belong to-”_

_“No one, Septimus,” he pulled back, glaring into Septimus’ fearful, but cloudy grey eyes, “I belong to_ no one _. I am my own person, and if I wanted to get on my knees right now I could. If I wanted you to_ fuck _me, I would have you. If I wanted to let the whole damn Slytherin House fuck me, I would. I belong to no one, especially not to some pompous fucker who isn’t even the_ heir to his family _.”_

 _He leaned closer to Septimus’ ear, feeling the fury flowing off of his ex, somehow still seated in the shadows, “How could some sad second child even think he has the power to control_ me _?”_

_Septimus groaned beneath him, his grip tightening, hips lifting upwards in a rut against his ass. He could have laughed, screamed in laughter at the feeling of the Malfoy heir’s arousal pressed against him. If only Brutus Malfoy could see his son now, see how easy his son lost his pureblood training to the pressings of a boy two years younger, who only wanted to get revenge against a fellow pureblood, in a fit of petty anger._

_Oh, how the mighty have fallen._

_He whined quietly, moving to entangle his fingers in the silky blond hair, feeling nothing but entertainment at the young heir’s actions. Septimus groaned and grunted against him, moving his hips in a slow circle, eyes shut in pleasure. He whined pitifully, like he enjoyed the proceedings, like all he had ever needed was Septimus’ hard cock pressing against him._

_His grin widened when he heard footsteps and felt the looming presence step ever so closer. He almost felt sorry that Septimus was too lost to sense the danger stalking forward._

_A hand wrapped around his throat, so sudden that even he was shocked, his eyes blown wide in excitement. It squeezed, his air escaping him, his body being pulled, yanked, forced backwards, away from Septimus, his hands coming away with a few silky blond strands. His body hit the ground, hard, his voice escaping him in a breathless giggle, because there he was;_

_Marc, his dangerous, powerful, elegant Marc, standing over him with such fury, his magic wrapped around them like a deadly shadow, and his wand was still pocketed. His anger was palpable, wrapping him in a red heat, not even sparing him a glance as he face Septimus head on._

_“Septimus, what did I say about touching my belongings?”_

_He purred, squirming at the sound of Marc’s voice, so calm in his fury, barely above a whisper. Septimus himself was cowering in his seat, looking between them with barely contained terror._

_“Marc- Marc, listen, I-I,” Septimus’ voice was a squeak, and he had to hold himself back from squealing with laughter, letting Marc, his lovely, lovely Marc handle the situation._

_“Hush, Septimus. Since this is only partially your fault, I will be lenient. Leave us, this isn’t about you,_ is it _?” Marc’s voice was quiet, but there was that hint of amusement in it, letting him know he had won this, even though he knew his boyfriend would punish him no matter what._

_Septimus muttered his apologies and thanks, rushing from the room, his body moving surprising fast despite his earlier actions. He was overly amused at how the older wobbled, almost running towards the dorms._

_“Callum.”_

_The warm voice reached his ears, and he sighed, a small smile remaining on his lips as he turned to his lovely future husband._

_And was understandably confused when the world was blurry, the space where his Marc should be a large blur of confusing lines and scratches in reality. It moved, as if worried over his reaction, and he wanted to scream, something was wrong, where was Marc, where was his love, where was his -_

_Soulmate._

 

_Soulmate._

 

_Soulmate._

 

Marc _._

 

 **Tom** _._

* * *

 

Harry awoke with a shout, scratching at his chest and throat, anything to get the screeching pain and fear to leave him. There was a red heat in his chest, spreading as he screamed, his eyes wide, his nails leaving bloody lines across his skin as he fought to pull the burning energy from his body.

He faintly felt the locket’s concern for him as it was thrown aside by his rushing hands, and he could hear Hermione’s call for him as if she were speaking to him through layers of glass and water. He could feel her cool hands on his overheated body, but he fought against them, pressing his own hands anywhere he could reach to stop the agonizing pain ripping through him.

Her screams were calling to him, telling him to calm down, stop mangling himself, but he couldn’t stop, not as long as the pain was tearing his body apart. He could feel her hands, her calm, sweet, beautiful magic as it wrapped around him, trying to force his hands to stop, trying to hold him down as she searched him, trying to find the source of his sudden illness.

“Harry, you need to calm down, everything is going to be alright,” her voice was weak with worry, but her magic strong with intent. It held him down, silencing his screams and wiping away his tears.

“Harry, I think you had a nightmare, and it's triggered your magic to attack whatever was hurting you. Your magic is trying to attack your nightmare, and is instead attacking you, I just need you to calm down, please,” she sounded so sure, but so scared, so weakened by the sight of him strangling in his own body.

He knew it was wrong, but how could she know? She didn’t know the truth, she didn’t know what he was. That his very being called out to their enemy, and if he wasn’t going to go to him on his own terms, then his soul would force him, or kill him trying. Soulmates and soul magic were so rare that many thought it wasn’t even real in this modern world, why would she take the time to study it.

He panted into the open air, waiting until he had enough energy to speak and not _scream_. He stared up at her worried brown eyes, knowing he was letting this go on too long. He needed to get them out of there, needed to finish this so-called war, even if it killed him.

And it would. _“For neither can live while the other survives.”_ What a crock of shit that was, when one couldn’t live if the other died either. What a lovely piece of information that was when he discovered that in one of those damned books.

“Hermione. . . Hermione, I think I’m ok, now,” His mouth felt dry, and he could still feel that damned pain but it was dimmed, centered in his chest.

She nodded at him, her eyes still watching him wearily, but she gave him space, allowing him full control of his limbs. He counted himself lucky that he didn’t need much healing, his magic already doing most of the work of clearing the small scratches in his skin.

“I think, that maybe I should hold onto the locket for a while,” her eyes trained on the locket for a moment, before searching his face.

He was already shaking his head, sitting up roughly on his cot. His hand found the steady warmth of the locket automatically, fingers smoothing over the intricate metal. The horcrux inside sent out a shock of relaxation, chilling Harry’s shocked nerves.

“No, no Hermione. We’ve discussed this, you are in a weakened state-”

“You’re in a weakened state, Harry!”

Harry took a shuddering breath, fingers curled protectively over the locket. “I know, Hermione. I know, but. . . I’m the one he’s after. If he finds it on me it’s one thing, but. . .”

His voice fell below a whisper, his eyes falling from her form, unwilling to look at her as he spoke, “I can’t let anyone else take the fall for me, Hermione. You’re like my sister, if I lost you. . . I just. . . I just can’t, Hermione, please.”

He turned his eyes upward, pleading as he looked at her. Her eyes were filled with understanding and sadness, and she moved to hug him, her arms warm and comforting. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling a sob in his throat, tightening his grip as tears fell once more. He pushed his head against her shoulder, their bodies both moving with silent tears.

“Ok, Harry, but, if it ever gets too much, I’m here. Just, I’m here, ok?”

* * *

 

Harry was still lost in thought, as they sat silently, studying their own minds in search of a way to destroy the piece of Voldemort’s soul sitting on Harry’s chest. It was the first time he had ever heard a name, _his_ name, in his dreams, and the first time he had almost seen his soulmate’s face.

His name had been Callum, a young Slytherin boy, in the same class as Septimus Malfoy. Draco’s great-grandfather? Callum and Marc must have died young then, if they were reborn so quickly as Tom Riddle and his lover.

Oddly enough, he missed Marc, though he had never known the man. And, something in him felt the need to try the same trick on Draco or Lucius, just to see what reaction he would get.

But, no time.

“We should go somewhere.”

He felt Hermione’s eyes shoot to him in confusion, even as he continued to stare at the top of the tent blankly. He was getting restless, just the two of them. Surely there was somewhere, _somewhere_ , with other people that wouldn’t endanger them greatly.

“What do you mean,” her voice was quiet, edging on worried, as she put her book down. She eyed him carefully, glancing between the locket and his face.

“Out. Somewhere with people. There’s gotta be somewhere safe enough for like, five minutes. It’s too quiet, I need movement, energy, _people_.” His glance was pleading, his eyes wide as he looked at her.

Her eyes were narrowed, confused and worried. She ran her fingers along her book, a nervous tick she could never lose, “What? Harry, we’re in hiding. You’ve never wanted to be around people before.”

He sat up suddenly, his movements shocking her, his smile wide and animated, “I know- Listen, I know, but suddenly, I-I,” He sighed, running his hand through his hair roughly, “Suddenly I feel this need to be around people, like their energy is my energy. Listen, isn’t there a place near here for like wizards to dance and shit?”

She looked so concerned, and Harry hated it, but he needed to be around people, around movement. He needed to stop being in the stuffy tent and live, for five minutes.

“I think there is, but Harry, it isn’t safe to leave the forest,” her voice was so bloody soft, like she was talking to a child, and Harry didn’t think he could stand it much longer.

He stood, taking long, bounding steps towards her, to kneel at her side, “Please, Hermione. Five minutes. A drink, a dance, we’re gone. Please.”

She could never stand his pleading, he knew. She was looking at him, book held tightly to her chest. Her eyes flitted to the opening of the tent and back to his pleading expression, like she was in pain from his begging.

“Alright, five minutes. But, the moment either of us think something dangerous is going to happen, we leave.”

Harry grinned like he had just caught the snitch.

* * *

 

It was easy enough to arrive at the club, several glamours coating their bodies. No one seemed to notice them as they entered, the music thrumming loud enough the shake Harry’s bones. He finally felt at peace as he saw the moving bodies, though few, opening up to surround him in their pulsating energy.

His body shook, Hermione separating from him to find the bar, and he stood amongst the fellow brave few who felt it safe enough to dance in a small club that would probably never catch Voldemort’s eye. He felt the vibration in his very being, and he shivered, rocking along with the music, a blissed out expression covering his face.

He knew he was out there for much longer than five minutes when he felt questioning hands on his hips, but he was happy, enjoying the movement, enjoying the dance, and for once, enjoying having a partner. The boy was obviously about their age, with mousy brown hair, and bright blue eyes. There was a twinkle- a glint in those eyes that matched that expecting smirk, and Harry grinned at him, happily pressing closer and rocking to the music.

He didn’t come there for a one-night-stand, but he did look cute, obviously no Tom Riddle, but Hermione probably wouldn’t question anything if he happened to disappear into the bathroom with a cute stranger. He probably needed the stress relief anyway.

He heard a growl in the back of his mind, and a new hand touched his shoulder, the cute guy’s eyes widening dramatically at someone behind him. Harry would have asked if he was ok, if he wasn’t so confused by the growl still sitting in his mind like a warning.

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting, but, may I continue this dance?”

Harry could have choked, the sound of Tom Riddle’s voice reaching his ears. He turned suddenly, only to find himself in the arms of the physically formed horcrux, a polite smile on his lips, but a sadistic glint in his dark eyes. His arms wrapped tightly around Harry’s body, pulling him close to his own, throwing one last glare at the quickly escaping boy Harry had previously been dancing with.

“T-Tom? How- What?”

The horcrux shushed him with a smile, rocking their bodies together, Harry having no choice but to follow his lead as his mind raced. He felt warm, but not as hot as he felt when they normally spoke, when he drained some of Harry’s power to gain a physical form.

“Did you think you were the only one I could pull energy from? You coming here was probably the greatest and stupidest thing you could have done, my dear,” the smile was genuine. Harry had spoken to the horcrux enough to recognize the real smiles and the fake. He seemed proud, angsty, ready for something to happen.

Harry slowly, hesitantly, placed his hands on Riddle’s shoulders, allowing himself to feeling the thrumming beat of the music once more, feeling the power of the room. Groaning, he laid his head on Riddle’s shoulder, enjoying the older man’s heat, their closeness, though it wasn’t enough to soothe the ache from his soul calling out for him.

“What is my life,” he mumbled, tired, but happy, somehow. Their hips were pressed together firmly, their movements slow as they rocked to the music, the sound achingly similar to Harry’s rushing thoughts.

He could hear Riddle’s rumbling chuckle, his fingers rubbing at his hips, one moving slowly up his side. He shivered in the horcrux’s hold, trying to ignore the hand tracing along his chin, lifting his eyes to Riddle’s.

“It’s mine. You’re mine. Aren’t you, Harry?”

The voice was purring, and Harry opened his mouth to say no, no he belonged to no one, but Riddle’s lips slid over his, and all thoughts slid away with a sigh. His hands flew into Riddle’s hair, gripping the dark brown locks tightly, pulling the older down against him forcefully, not letting him go this time.

Their tongues met in a battle, Riddle seeming to want to taste every inch of Harry’s mouth that he possibly could. Harry moaned softly, pressing his body impossibly closer to the older, feeling his body lift onto his toes to reach as much of the horcrux as possible.

He couldn’t breathe, but at the same time, he could breathe easier. It was like as the seconds moved in Riddle’s arms, the less he felt the pain in his chest, and he was absorbing it greedily. He didn’t even care that he was being snogged within an inch of his life in the middle of some unknown club.

Riddle released him, staring down at him with a mix of amusement and deep, deep arousal. Harry stared back with lust filled eyes and kiss bitten lips, trying to press against him again.

The horcrux chuckled, holding his chin, eyes flicking between him and someone else behind him. Harry narrowed his eyes, feeling a growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach as the pain in his chest released completely. Riddle pushed him suddenly, releasing his hold, Harry stumbling back, and to his horror, feeling a very familiar body and arms holding him upright.

“He’s all yours,” Riddle spoke with a grin, rolling his hands in a mocking bow before disappearing.

There was a very warm, very real chest against his back, followed by the arm wrapped around his waist and the hand caressing his throat, lifting his chin and eyes to a blind stare at the ceiling of the club he was now going to die in. He felt the chuckle radiating from the chest pressed firmly against his back, and he wanted to scream at the peace and calm and the amount of **_rightness_ ** he felt at just the sound.

He wanted to fight it, fight the relaxation he felt, fight the tug on his thoughts to the one standing behind him, fight the connecting his soul had to the other. He wanted to claw, and scream, and cry, but Voldemort’s hold was strong, and his voice so fucking soothing as he hummed in his ear, and Harry was pissed, but so calm, so at peace.

“My, my, how many secrets we hide, Harry Potter,” the voice was lilting, distinctly not the same hissing snaky sound from his fourth year that haunted his dreams and memories. It was _Tom Riddle’s_ voice, somewhat older and more refined, pressing against his brain and soul. It was _Tom Riddle’s_ skin pressing against his and soothing the remnants of his earlier pains.

It was **_Tom_ ** _fucking_ **_Riddle_ **.

“Our friend in the locket has informed me that you are scared to return to me. Why is that?” Harry grimaced at voice, at the feeling of his breath, his lips against his jaw, his ear. It was wrong how right he felt, that he was where he was supposed to be. The voice chuckled again.

“Of course, I do understand. I haven’t always been in my right of mind, and have done many things to produce your fear of me. However, I do not appreciate things that belong to me being handled by others, and running away from me. Surely, you understand, don’t you, Harry?”

The voice was amused, knowing what trap it held Harry in. Either way he was stuck and afraid, and even now, with the sense of pure joy of having his soulmate holding him so close, he was afraid.

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

Harry grit his teeth, Voldemort’s grip turning beyond painful, air escaping him. Dots appeared in his vision, and he thinks maybe, maybe Voldemort will kill them both the grip on his throat lessened. Voldemort hissed a laugh, pressing a kiss along Harry’s jaw.

“Oh, Harry, I think we’ll both find that’s not true.”

Voldemort’s grip eases, almost entirely, to just enough that Harry knows he can’t pull away. His nose rubs against Harry’s cheek, as if he’s smelling him for the first time, nuzzling against his flesh.

“How interesting, my horcrux, my soulmate, my _Harry_. Let’s play a game, shall we? I’m going to give you two choices. One, I let you go to hide with your mudblood friend, release death eaters on this place to find you, in which you will most likely escape them, as always. Then, you can continue to feel soul pains, and try to hold back from coming to me, which will be the sweetest thing when you do.”

His hand moved from Harry’s throat to his hair, tangling into the wild black curls, and moving Harry’s head as he pleased. “Or, you can just come home with me. Your choice.”

Harry was released then, and he turned suddenly, to catch sight of his new enemy and all he could see was

Red.

He was Tom Riddle alright, mid-twenties at the latest, but his eyes were scarlet, standing out against his pale skin and dark hair. He felt the same abstract horror from the night those bright red eyes had glared at him from a cauldron. It wasn’t helped by the sadistic grin on the man’s face, his teeth too white, too sharp.

“Choose, Harry.”

Something screamed at him to stay with the older man, stay with his soulmate, but he turned and sprinted towards the bar instead, pushing past grumpy and confused dancers as he screamed Hermione’s name. He could hear explosions, and felt heat at his back, but he refused to look back at the evil wizard, knowing he had, like always, spoke the truth.

Screams erupted in the small room, people crowding and pushing, and Harry screamed too. He screamed and he pleaded and he apologized, but he forced himself to keep moving, to find Hermione, to get her to safety. Something in him was breaking and he could only cry as he felt it.

“Harry! _Harry_ , over here!”

Finally he saw her over the crowd rushing to escape, and the explosions and fire chasing after them. He fled to her side, choking on tears, and she held him, fearful.

“We need to leave, we need to leave now, Harry, come on-”

Harry screamed again, wrapping his arms around her, sensing the incoming death eaters. They wouldn’t have her. A loud crack sounded, and he felt the twist of flesh and magic as they landed on hard ground.

“Harry, oh my God,” Hermione cried, rushing to him, looking over his body as he stared at the sky and wept, his tears and voice coming out as choked screams. “Harry, where are we, we aren’t near the tent, oh God.”

Her voice was panicked, and she was trying to help him up, but nothing could help him. He had apparated them far away from the tent for a reason, his use of magic would call the death eaters to them, but would hopefully give them enough time to make it back to the tent, or at least hide.

But he couldn’t move, his body debilitated by his sobs, the pain rising in his chest once more. He cried for Hermione. He cried for the people at the club. He cried for himself.

And most of all, he cried for the locket that was no longer resting on his chest.


	4. Hadrian, Cyril

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so a few notes for this chapter. Hadrian and Cyril are memories I decided to use to show that Harry had past lives where he was darker and more in control.  
> This chapter also takes place over a course of about six days, there's a lot going on here, and it's probably confusing, but hopefully it works out so everyone understands most of it.  
> I'm also not the best at writing Hermione, but I certainly tried. I hope you guys enjoy!

**Minister of Magic Marries Half-Blood: Public Outcry From Pureblood Followers.**

Minister Gaunt, pureblood heir of Slytherin, married a half-blood wizard by the name of Hadrian Ross in a private ceremony last week, sparking disagreements between the Minister of Magic and the Pureblood families that follow him. Many families seem to believe this is a tactic of tying together the pureblood and half-blood groups, and may even lead to a welcoming of mudbloods into our ranks.

Minister Gaunt denies these claims, stating that he married for love, and that his now husband is his soulmate. As we all know, soulmates are an uncommon occurrence, now falling into obscurity. Many believe his claim to be a falsehood, a way of hiding his true intentions.

_With a sigh, he threw down the paper, wondering why his husband still had it after all these months. Even though it had been a hard few months, it was a happy few months, finally being tied together. The ring sitting heavily on his finger was proof of that._

_He had almost not gone through with it, knowing how much trouble it would cause his soulmate. Being the minister of magic, and a pureblood, that had for so long rallied against half-bloods, to suddenly turn around and marry one? He knew it would be rough on him, but his soulmate had simply taken him in his arms and told him not to worry about a thing._

_So, he didn’t._

_Well, that was until the attacks began. Radicals began attacking his husband, his home, and now, apparently the ministry. His guards had locked him in his husband’s office, and of course, that fucking paper was sitting there, reminding him of the reason he was trapped there anyway._

_Him._

_His soul, his blood, his love for his stupid, handsome husband._

_Explosions sounded from outside the door, and he found he didn’t care. They were going to kill themselves over their ridiculous beliefs, and he didn’t have a say in it. He didn’t want to have a say in it. He just wanted to love his husband, for as long as he had._

_And it didn’t feel like he had long. The magic and danger was seeping ever closer, and while those guards had sworn to protect his husband, he knew they would have know shame in letting him die. They wouldn’t give up their lives for a half-blood they believed had bewitched the pureblood minister._

_It was hard, being able to sense their arrival, their hatred for him. It was getting harder to breathe, waiting expectantly in his husband’s chair, facing the door he knew they would come through, wands at the ready._

_He would face his death head-on, but they would not expect the incoming wrath._

_He knew they were containing his husband, somewhere, somehow, feeling it through some odd connection of their beings. They actually believed that killing him would relieve his husband of some spell, not that it would rip his soul to shreds, ultimately killing them both. What they didn’t know was, magic always had a back up plan._

_He could feel something pull at his core, feeling the familiar warmth of his husband wrapping around him. The shared magic warmed his core, even as the door began to burst under the weight of an enemy’s power. Light and dark magic combined as they forced their way into the room._

_“Drop your wands and leave, and you may escape with your life,” his voice came out deeper than intended, the sound scraping against the delicate flesh of his throat. His eyes searched each of his attackers as they chuckled, thinking him weak enough to take their ambush laying down. His husband was with them somewhere, he knew. He could hear his voice, the faint cries of his name trying to reach his ears._

_Their leader stepped forward, a Black perhaps, a tall, angular man with a sly grin on his lips. He was chuckling along with the others, though his wand was the only one pointed downward, as he stepped closer._

_He could only push himself back in his seat, trying to lean as far away as possible from the other man, as he grabbed his chin and leaned in close._

_“What a pretty little thing to have such fight, no wonder he likes you so much.” Another round of laughter flooded the room as the man spoke, his grin widening, “How about this, you suck my cock half as good as you supposedly do Gaunt’s, and I’ll let you live as a little pet, hm? Right where you belong.”_

_He felt his fury behind his eyes, an unmatched anger that he could barely reign in as the other spoke. The cries of his name, “Hadrian! Hadrian!” blasted against his eardrums, and he wanted nothing more than to make these people bloodstains against the floor._

_He smiled sweetly, fluttering his eyes at the man gripping his jaw so tightly it would definitely bruise. “Of course,” he purred, reaching his hand out to delicately run his hand along the man’s clothed thigh._

_Murmurs and laughter almost stopped him, the sound of them calling him a whore, a disgusting half-blood. He refused to pay them mind, only watching the man’s eyes turn from amused to heavy-lidded arousal as his hand moved slowly to prod at his cock. He cupped the man’s arousal, smiling upwards innocently._

_Slowly, his smile turned sadistic, the man’s eyes widening in confusion, shock and fear. His hand was warm, and pleasantly sticky as he pulled back, amused at the crimson sheen covering his hand. The man was choking, trying to scream, as he finally convulsed and fell to the ground._

_His fellows seemed lost and confused at the sight, their leader convulsing on the ground._

_Their wands returned to him, and his sadistic smile only widened. The blood on his hand was quickly cooling, and he decided he needed more. The wizard closest to him suddenly lost his wand arm, his voice ringing out in shock, and blood splattering the room. The room seemed to shudder, wizards seeming to realize what they had fallen into._

_A few curses were mumbled, a few_ Avada Kedavras _, but they never reached their target as he moved elegantly through the masses. With a single touch he brought grown men to their knees, crying out for death, for release from the torture he had placed them in. By the time he had reached the last three, he was drenched in the blood of his attackers, the screams of his victims fueling his ire._

_“I told you to leave.”_

_His voice was so soft, so dark, so unlike him, that he couldn’t recognize himself. The three huddled against each other, their wands pointed towards him, despite how useless they had become. He briefly thought of letting the go, they were obviously not leaders, probably simply the second sons that had something to prove. But, what they had done couldn’t be forgiven. His anger remained, a constant hatred that fueled him, and even as he watched their heads roll to the ground, the fury refused to leave._

_“Stop! If you don’t stop right now, we’ll kill him!”_

_His core shuddered, his mind raced, as his eyes turned to face the doorway. A young man, younger than him, stood there, fearful, just a messenger._

_“I don’t plan to stop until you all leave. Leave this place, leave him,” his voice was cracking, the weight of his magic beginning to weigh him down._

_The boy squeaked, turning to run away, but he knew it was already too late. The others outside that room had already heard his cry, knew that he wasn’t giving in. He cut the boy down with a flick of his wrist, and at the same time felt a rush of heat in his being._

_It raced through him, and he hit the ground with a scream, his body shaking with an unknown curse. He shook and cried, feeling his beloved’s soul leaving the realm, leaving him. The blinding pain was tearing him apart, eyes blearily looking towards the shocked remainder of attackers. He refused to hold back his screams, letting them haunt the men for the rest of their days._

_He could feel the cracks spreading across his soul, and he did nothing to hide it. His screams burned his throat, choking on his blood. It was the worst pain in existence, but all he could think about was being reunited with his soulmate in another life._

* * *

 

Harry was screaming, body unable to move, eyes blind to the world. He fought against whatever was holding him down, his magic spiking to attack the unrecognizable energy. He could feel the scream in his throat, the brutalness of the sound never reaching ears.

There was so much pain in his chest, burning him from the inside out.

“ _Harry. . . Please. . ._ ”

That voice was so familiar, so worried, pleading him for something. He wanted to focus on it instead of the pain, to focus on that concerned tone. He missed it, something about that voice.

“ _Harry, you’re not telling me something. Please, just tell me the truth. Please, wake up. Please. . . Harry._ ”

He wanted to cry at the sound, wanted to tell her everything was ok, if only he could figure out who she was. . .

“ _Harry!_ ”

Hermione!

Harry gasped awake, finding himself on his cot in the tent. He stared blankly upwards before his mind raced, reminding him of why he had awakened with such a start in the first place. He sat suddenly, pulling himself up with a sluggish energy, eyes only for the quiet girl sitting in her own cot.

He could only blame himself for how sick and lost she looked. He hated how small she seemed.

She let out a breath when he finally moved, the fear in her eyes relaxing a bit, but she remained pale, sickly looking in the low light.

He panted for a moment, looking her up and down for any injuries, “You asked me if I was hiding something.”

Her face scrunched suddenly, as if smelling something offensive. She looked confused, brown glaring into green as she tried to wrestle something from her own thoughts. “That was days ago, Harry. I was talking to myself, dragging your half-lucid body here. I’m surprised you remember that.”

There was anger laced in her clipped tone, and he knew he deserved it. He was the one that had put them in that situation, the one that had lost the locket. He had practically handed the war to Voldemort on a silver platter.

He couldn’t remember much from the past days, only racing emotions and flashing images. He knew he had come in contact with Voldemort, and had done something stupid.

“I think- I think this has gone on for too long.” His voice was so weak, so scared. He refused to look her in the eye, glancing at their few belongings in the tent.

“What do you mean, Harry?”

He grimaced, holding back tears. He wanted to cry at how worried and understanding she sounded. He was scared; of what he wasn’t sure at the moment. Voldemort wasn’t there, the locket was gone, the only thing he had to fear was. . . losing Hermione.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, the burning sensation behind his eyes finally falling over full force into tears. His body shook with his sobs, his hands reaching up to entangle with his hair, gripping the strands tightly. Memories began flooding his thoughts, and he knew it was his fault, his fault so many people were injured and killed, his fault Hermione was in this place.

He should’ve just gone with Voldemort when given the opportunity.

“What?” Hermione’s arms were around him suddenly, pulling him into a semblance of a motherly embrace. “Why? Why would you go with him? Harry, what’s happening?”

Harry hadn’t realized he was speaking, his thoughts rolling out of his mouth unstopped. He choked on his own sobs, hands moving to grip her tightly, as if that would save her from the dangers of their world. He shook his head, unable to think, unable to word the truth.

“He’s- Voldemort, he’s my-” He couldn’t get the words out, only pressing further into her embrace. The burning in his chest seemed to bristle at his words, trying to force it out of him. “He’s my soulmate, Hermione.”

After he started, he couldn’t stop. The words simply fell from his lips like a curse, Hermione falling silent as he spoke, new and different forms of fear and concern flashing across her face. They still sat on the cot together, but had finally released each other from their death grips, eyeing each other wearily.

“Where did you get all this information, Harry? You sound like a book.”

Harry chuckled, if only she knew. “There’s actually a section dedicated to soul mates in the restricted section at Hogwarts. You’re supposed to be able to get special permission to read them, in case you have a soulmate, or if you want to do a paper or something. Soulmates started happening less and less, so now so few people know about it. I snuck in there a lot when I couldn’t sleep.”

Hermione sniffed, looking somewhere between wanting to be proud of Harry for reading and researching on his own; and wanting to protect him from the world. “How do you know it’s him, and that he’s not doing something through your mental connection?”

Harry shook his head, unconsciously reaching up to touch his scar, “I don’t think he knew about that until fifth year. This has been happening since second.”

“Why not first year, then? He attacked you in first year, too.”

Harry smiled, mostly because he had asked the same questions. She was trying to find him an escape, find him a way out of the truth of the world.

“I asked the locket that. His theory is that because he was a wraith attached to another person’s soul, even though the horcrux reacted to it, my soul did not.” It took him a full minute to realize from Hermione’s shocked sound that he had said something he shouldn’t have.

“Horcrux?”

His smile turned weak, eyes looking elsewhere as he searched for a way to explain that one. “Apparently, when he tried to kill me as a baby, his spell rebound off of me, and his soul split again. I’m unintentional, but he knows now. He told me.”

His voice went soft, smile falling, “Dumbledore knew.”

She gave a shocked gasp, reaching out to press her hand against his shoulder, “I’m sure he was searching for a way to help you.”

His hand reached up to cover hers, accepting the warmth of her comfort. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if accepting her words, but he knew. The only way for Voldemort to die, was if he were too.

“Didn’t you say that one’s death would cause the other’s,” her voice had gone into studious mode, her hand leaving his shoulder as she stood to look for an unused journal for her notes. She seemed to accept his fate, if for a moment, just to get answers from him.

“Yeah, usually. It’s one of the few things even horcruxes can’t stop, if what the locket said was true.” He didn’t mind that she had gone into student mode, enjoying the sense of normalcy.

“Usually?”

He raised his hand to rub the back of his neck nervously, watching her write her notes furiously.

“Yeah. One time I had a memory of dying, and he didn’t die with me,” he struggled for a moment to remember which life that was, which time he had died without his soulmate. With a shudder he remembered a young boy dying on the stairs, and unfamiliar hands touching and searching his skin.

“Harry?”

He blinked, finding brown eyes staring worriedly into his.

“Your eyes went foggy for a moment, are you alright?”

He nodded, rubbing his neck again. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I just remembered which life that was.”

He noticed an excited glint in her eyes, and he almost felt bad at ruining it. The truth was running through his mind, that same face having haunted him only hours before.

“Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle was my soulmate.”

* * *

 

Harry was still stumped at that one, laying back on his cot in silence. Hermione had left a few hours earlier, finally convinced that he would be alright if she left to find supplies. After their conversation, she had been hard to convince.

If it was true that horcruxes couldn’t survive a soulmate’s death, then how had Tom survived? How had he continued living even after Harry’s soul had passed on to become who he was now? Even then there was only one answer that made sense.

Magic knew he was coming back. Knew he would be reborn in Tom’s time. His mind went back to the prophecy.

_What if Tom, as Voldemort was only surviving?_

Even with that thought on his mind, he knew there was something else to be done. Hermione theorized that if he focused on a set of memories long enough, he would get more information. Maybe even discover something they could use against Voldemort. Honestly, he just hoped for a name, at the least.

So, with a sigh, he got comfortable and closed his eyes, trying to push his thoughts past roaming hands and the sounds of tearing cloth. He tried to focus on his memories of a little boy, of Tom Riddle’s features and voice, of a run down but nice apartment.

And his mind went blank.

* * *

 

At first, August was angry, thinking his lover was pulling some odd prank on him, but he quickly realized that wasn’t the case. He stood, stretching languidly, as he looked around the small tent. Confusion raced through his mind as pulled through his last memories; putting Drago down for a nap, and speaking with his lover at lunch.

Tom had asked to borrow his wand, a common occurrence as Tom didn’t want anyone to know he had used dark magic. He had gladly given it over, placing a kiss on the taller man’s cheek, before running to check on Drago. It had been a relatively normal day so far.

So, how did he end up in a tent in the middle of the forest?

He immediately began seeking a wand, hoping to contact Tom in some way. Surely his lover knew how he had gotten there. He was almost done searching through a bag beside the second cot when he heard footsteps getting closer. With no weapon, he simply turned to watch whomever was entering the tent.

“Hey, Harry. Any luck with memories?”

She was certainly an odd looking girl, with large, bushy hair, and chocolate brown eyes. She moved around him easily, with a large smile that tried to hide the pain in her eyes, as if she knew him very well, as if they were close friends.

Obviously, August was confused.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but you must have me confused with someone else. My name is August, and I just woke up here a few minutes ago. I’m a bit lost.” He ignored how different his voice sounded, deciding it was from having woken up from a deep sleep.

There was a growing horror in the girl’s eyes as she placed her things down, stepping closer to him. She stared at him, her mouth moving but no words coming out, her thoughts moving faster than her voice.

“Harry, if you’re playing a joke, I don’t much like it.”

August reared back, concerned by the girl’s words and tone. He didn’t know who this Harry was, but if he had caused this girl such pain, he didn’t think he would like him much. He wanted to hug the girl, she couldn’t be much younger than he was, maybe 17.

“I don’t know who this Harry is, dear, but maybe you should be glad he isn’t here,” he started, but his voice cracked at the terror he saw on her face. Her hands reached up to touch his face, pulling their faces closer.

“Harry, wake up, please. August, I don’t know who you are, but I need _Harry_. Please, let him wake up.”

August was scared, haunted by the tears brimming in the girl’s eyes. He didn’t know who Harry was, and he didn’t know what she was asking for. He tried to pull away, but her grip was strong, so oddly strong for her soft, gentle hands.

“I don’t know what you’re asking of me,” his voice came out softer, feeling his own tears fill his eyes. He tried to pull away again, to get away from this girl, this odd feeling in his chest.

“Tell me who you are! Who is your soulmate, give me information, please-”

“Soulmate? I don’t know-” He wanted to escape this, whatever curse this girl had put him under. “Are you talking about Tom?”

The girl squeaked suddenly, releasing him to rush over and write something in a journal. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he rubbed his cheek and ran towards the opening of the tent. He didn’t make it very far when her words coldly shot down his spine.

“You’re dead. You watched your son die, you were raped by his murderers, and you used up your magic trying to stop them. Your core shattered, and you died broken, in an alleyway.”

He shivered, turning to look at the girl with wide, fearful eyes. She sounded so sure, eyes serious, teeth grit in a wide grimace. Her wand was pointed at his back, warning him against leaving.

Something sounded right about her words. He wanted to escape that train of thought, escape that tent, escape those words. Drago wasn’t dead he was- _the green spell flew past his own body, hitting his child, still midstep._

He screamed, falling to his knees, clutching his head in agony. His thoughts rushed as memories flooded him. His child, his poor Drago laying dead on a staircase. Those hands gripping him roughly, pushing into him, tearing his flesh as he cried and screamed. Who was he?

He was Harry; but he was August. Both lives collapsed into him, and Harry screamed, his magic forcing itself outwards. Tears fell from his eyes, his body felt like a cold stone. He could hear Hermione calling for him, but he forced her back, refusing her entrance to the whirlwind of power exploding from his body.

* * *

 

_“My Lord, should we continue with our attack on the village?”_

_He nodded blandly, thinking he couldn’t care less what his forces did, as long as it was done. All he wanted was to go home and lie in bed with his husband without a care in the world. He wanted to be cuddled and taken care of, instead of worrying about what the rest of the world wanted of him._

_Being a dark lord was so fucking boring, he didn’t understand how his predecessors did it._

_Yes, there was a certain power-rush that came with leading his troops into a battle, and slowly overtaking the magical world. But, sometimes he just wanted to go home, and be with his husband._

_Being a Slytherin was so annoying. He wished it wasn’t expected of him to become a dark wizard, to try and take over the world. At least it was easier than expected, especially when witches and wizards threw themselves at his feet. It was actually kind of funny._

_If only his husband found it as funny. He only thought he should take responsibility for his followers, and lead them to greatness. He was supposed to lead the magical world after all, he needed to be powerful, regal, and elegant._

_Too bad his husband wasn’t the bloody Dark Lord._

* * *

 

“I can’t do this anymore, Hermione. I can’t.” The pain was absorbing him, taking his breath away. It had spread from his chest to his stomach, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer before he either died or ran to Voldemort.

Every day away from the man, the memories got worse, attacking him even in his awakened state. There were times when he looked at Hermione’s face and he couldn’t recognize her. The memories he had of his current life were getting fuzzy, as if they were being absorbed by the same energy that was taking his life.

He could feel her eyes on him, searching him, but he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t accept how it felt when he looked at her and didn’t know who she was.

“Hold on a bit longer, Harry. We’re so close to finding another horcrux, that will help.” She sounded so sure of herself, as if she knew what was happening to Harry’s body.

“It won’t help! Nothing will help me, but him! I need him, Hermione! The locket only held it off for a short time, but even it knew that I would have to go to him eventually!”

He sat up, finally taking in her expression. He was sad, angry, and so _fucking_ scared, but there was nothing left in him to care.

“I’m dying, Hermione. My soul is literally trying to rip itself out of my body to get to him. He knows this. Eventually, he’s going to come get me himself, and you’re going to be the only thing in his way, because I’ll be too far gone to do anything other than beg for him. He’ll _kill_ you. I can’t accept that. I can’t take this pain anymore. I can’t take anymore chances that he’ll hurt anyone to get to me.”

Her eyes were wide, mouth open in shock. She looked like she wanted to respond, but he held up his hand to stop any words. She needed to hear this, and he needed to get it out. He needed to leave.

“I need to go to him, Hermione. There’s no other option.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, for anyone wondering, when Cyril says he's a Slytherin, take that literally. I decided it would be interesting to make one of Harry's past lives not only a dark lord, but one of Slytherin's grandchildren. You guys will probably see him again.  
> As always, if you have any questions/comments or just want to get to know me you an find me on [tumblr](http://fairytales-andfuckery.tumblr.com/)  
> And if you ever have an extra $3 and would like to support me and my work, consider looking at my ko-fi, link on my tumblr, or look me up under the same name.  
> If you guys ever support me, I would love to give you a shout-out!


	5. Thaddeus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you guys are going to get two updates this time because I split a chapter into two (they're both the size of normal chapters though, don't worry.)  
> This chapter mentions Albus Dumbledore, so that means something interesting; he has seen at least three of these two past lives. If you can guess which ones, I'll give you a cookie, lol.  
> I also wanted to use this chapter to wrap up some details and explain some more about how soulmates work in this world. Of course, there will probably be some I left out, so feel free to leave your questions for me!

The gates leading up to Malfoy Manor were just as impressive as Harry had imagined, just as in your face, screaming, “We have money and you don’t.” Someone seemed to have known he was coming, because when he stepped up to touch the gate his hand passed through it easily, as if it were smoke. He made a shocked sound, but pressed through despite his fear.

Harry didn’t know what led him to the Malfoys, though he knew they were supposedly Voldemort’s most loyal. Something in the back of his mind called him, telling him the home of his enemy was where he should be. The pain in his stomach and chest began to slowly ebb away as he walked up the path, taking in the garden, and what seemed to be albino peacocks. He almost groaned at the sight of them.

The doors opened for him before he even made it up the stairs, feeling eyes on him more than seeing them. The sight of the empty hall churned his stomach, and he almost turned around and ran back to his and Hermione’s tent. She had said she would wait a day before moving, in case he would return to her.

But, he knew he couldn’t take the pain anymore, couldn’t take the thought of losing her at any misstep. He knew that this was the best choice, even if he felt like he was giving something of himself up as he climbed the stairs and walked inside the Malfoy home.

The door shut behind him with a resounding **_click_ **, and he knew he no longer had any means of escape, no way of returning to his past life. The whole manor seemed to thrum with a thick energy, consuming and releasing all at once as Harry stepped further into the eery building. He recognized the sensation of wards as they tapped and caught against him, and he found he didn’t really care.

Voldemort already knew he was there, knew he was coming.

Footsteps were rushing towards him, loud and echoey in the silence of the hallway. Harry didn’t change the pace of his steps, keeping his hands lax and at his side, deciding he really didn’t want to be attacked for holding a wand or moving too quickly. It took all of his strength to not turn and run full force back towards the door, begging for escape.

The footsteps rounded the corner, and Harry honestly wasn’t that surprised when Draco almost collided with him. The blond looked sickly, afraid of every little sound and movement, his eyes wide as he took in Harry’s form. He had never seen the Malfoy heir look so poorly, his hair out of place, skin drawn tight over his cheekbones.

“Potter! Wh- what are you doing here?” Draco’s voice sounded sad, fearful, but overpowered by his want to hide his feelings.

Harry looked at him sadly, stopping his slow march to watch the other. Obviously, Draco had some idea of why Harry was there, but he didn’t know the full force of the truth.

“Where is he, Draco? He’s expecting me.”

Draco spluttered loudly, his mouth opening in closing as words failed to come. He looked around the hall, his eyes glancing everywhere wildly, as if he expected Voldemort to show up out of nowhere. Finally, his eyes landed on Harry again, full of terror, like there was a trapped scream inside of his thoughts.

“Are you giving up on us?”

Draco’s words broke him, something he never expected from the situation he was in. He snapped forward, pulling the shocked blond into a tight, too tight, embrace, his arms in a vice grip around the Malfoy heir’s body. Draco shook, scared, surprised, his throat releasing some sort of startled shout.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I’m so _fucking_ sorry,” Harry didn’t know why he began speaking, but the words began tumbling out. His worries, and true feelings finally being laid out into the world. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept your friendship the first time. I’m sorry I never realized you were just a scared fucking kid like me. I’m so sorry it’s come to this.”

He kept talking, even as he felt Draco’s arms slowly lift to encompass him, even as he heard him mumble “It’s oks,” and “I’m sorry too.”  Harry only hugged Darco tighter, even as he felt a hiss of irritation in the back of his mind. He wanted Draco to understand, to understand that he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen.

Eventually he pulled back, releasing Draco and taking a step away to face him fully. Draco’s face was flushed a light pink, his eyes confused and sad. Harry nodded once more, holding out his hand.

“I can’t fix what happened in the past, and I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but _right now_ ,” he sighed softly, smiling encouragingly at the other boy, “Right now, I want to be your friend. Will you be my friend, Draco Malfoy?”

There was a moment of indecision, he could see it in Draco’s eyes, but slowly, there was a cool pale hand intertwining with his. They shook together, a small smile returning to Draco’s cheeks, an odd sense of understanding forming between them.

But, it ended too soon it seemed, Harry pulling his hand back and looking around the halls of Malfoy Manor once more.

“Where is he, Draco? It’s time.”

Draco made a choking sound, as if he had expected their sudden pact to make Harry back out, to make him go back into hiding. The lost look was quickly returning to him, but he pointed, staring Harry down as he spoke.

“Third floor. He has a whole section of the manor to himself.”

Harry didn’t wait for Draco to finish speaking, already turning and starting his slow death march once more. He intended to ignore the other, knowing he would try to stop him, as others had already attempted, but a cool hand wrapping around his wrist had him stopping in sudden amazement.

His head turned to face Draco, the blond’s face pink with shame and confusion, eyes glaring holes into the floor.

“Do you-” He started, stopping to lick his lips and begin again, louder, “Do you know what you’re doing, Harry?”

Harry smiled, feeling warmth at the sound of his name, not _Potter_ , just Harry, coming out of Draco’s mouth. “I have no clue what I’m doing, Draco.”

He pulled his hand out of the gentle hold, turning his back on Draco, for what he felt was possibly the last time.

* * *

 

The third floor was just as elegantly decorated and oddly terrifying as the first floor was. It wasn’t hard to find which part belonged to Voldemort, the sudden shift in the wards chilling his skin yet pulling him closer. There was a sense of danger here, but also something so distinctly familiar he wanted to cry and run to it.

He had at first believed he would have to look through every room, but soon found that the burning energy in his core was slowly leaving the closer he got. It was like having a map built into his very being, always letting him know where the older man was at any point in time.

A pair of double doors caught his attention, and he _knew_. Voldemort was waiting on the other side for him. The feeling in his core had significantly eased, and he knew the moment he stepped through those doors he would be caught like a fly in a spider’s web. There was a sense of calm belonging flowing outwards from the room, and he itched to throw open the doors, itched to throw himself inside and lose himself in it.

The handles were warm, almost hot beneath his hands, his arms shaking as he gripped them. They eased open, creaking in the silence of the hall, and Harry could have sighed. He stepped into the room, a familiar magic wrapping around him, caressing him, welcoming him inside.

His eyes met red, and in an instant, all pain left him. He accepted the feeling greedily, stepping further into the room, refusing to take his eyes away from the evil sitting calmly in a lounge, drinking tea as if he didn’t have better things to do as the fucking dark lord. The man smirked at him, knowing, amused, but still, Harry felt the bursts of a memory’s flooding happiness taking over him.

“Tom,” he breathed in relief, almost happiness, a smile forming on his lips.

Those red eyes held a semblance of confusion for such a wistful and knowing voice, but otherwise held no reaction. He held out his hand, motioning for Harry to sit beside him, his amused smirk remaining.

“You lasted longer than I had expected, Harry,” his voice was a rich tenor, Harry almost gasping at the sound as he moved to sit beside the man, eyes wide. “I had almost given in to coming for you myself, something I’m sure you and your _friend_ wouldn’t have enjoyed.”

Harry suddenly found a teacup in his hands, and he stared down in shock at it for a moment, the swirling motion all too distracting. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Voldemort had to say, knowing that the older man would love to taunt him. But, he still had so many questions, so many things left unanswered by their previous lives, and the only person to answer them was sitting next to him.

“Tom,” he started, still confused himself as to why his voice took on that tone, eyes darting upwards to stare into the deep red of the other’s. He stayed silent for a moment, taking in the man’s features, his pompous smirk, rushing for a way to continue his words, when he felt something prod at his thoughts.

He had never thought of just letting them in before.

Imagining the look of confusion on Voldemort’s face, and the answers he might get was enough to make his choice. He felt his face move on it’s own, though still somehow in his control, new thoughts forming in his mind that were his, yet not at the same time. His body relaxed, chin against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded and a conspiratory smile on his lips.

“Did you miss me, Tom?”

There was an odd twitch on the man’s eye, but his smirk remained. Voldemort leaned closer, close enough that Harry could feel his breath on his face, but for once he didn’t feel scared, didn’t feel angry at their closeness.

“How could I miss you, if I knew where you were the entire time?” Ah, the man was trying to gode him, trying to bring him out of whatever phase he was in. Too bad it wouldn’t work.

“I don’t mean Harry, Tom. I mean the one before Harry. Think, love.”

A look of shock, of anger played across the man’s features. “What game are you playing?” It was a hiss, but he remained just as close, glaring into Harry’s happy, relaxed eyes.

Harry reached up and placed his hand delicately on Tom’s cheek, “You’ve been so lost without me, haven’t you? I haven’t been here long, and I can’t stay as this isn’t my time, but, even I can see what you’ve lost here.”

He smiled sweetly, pulling the older man in and placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He was relieved when the man didn’t fight him.

“August?”

He hummed lightly, nuzzling the man’s cheek, “Of course, love.” He pressed another kiss on Voldemort- no _Tom’s_ jaw, releasing an almost purring sound.

“Now, like I said, I haven’t been in this body long, but since I’ve woken up, I’ve had this damned _prophecy_ being forced through my head constantly. It and you is all he’s been thinking about. So, let me ask you something,” He pulled back, staring into Tom’s eyes, “Are you living?”

Tom snorted, an undignified sound, but it made him happy to hear it as he was breaking out of his shell, “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“But, is that living, or surviving, love?” Both hands were on the man’s face now, petting him lovingly, as if he’d never thought to do anything else.

“What are you playing at, August? You know that you’re thoughts are a mystery to me.”

“ _The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not._ You couldn’t kill him as a babe, Tom, yet you did not immediately realise he was your soulmate returned to you? You turned him into your horcrux, _marking him_ with your _soul_ . _Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives?_ Tom, my love, you had broken yourself so beyond repair, you are only surviving without him, with _us_. He can’t live without you, and you him.”

He forcefully pulled the man closer, crushing their foreheads together to glare into the man’s eyes. “At no point did that fucking prophecy say he, or I, would kill you. It told you your soulmate was being reborn, and you spent most of his life attacking him, attacking _me_.”

His hands released suddenly, Tom’s hands moving to soothe his own skin where Harry’s magic had lashed out. He was scowling, prepared to give Harry his own backlash, but his words died out in his throat when he saw the look in his soulmate’s eyes.

“Why didn’t I die with you?” It was soft, sad, the sound of a boy who had lost it all, and then some.

Harry’s eyes widened, arms spreading suddenly to wrap Tom into a hug. The older man never showed emotion, was always a cranky beast to control, the memories knew, and which Harry would eventually learn to corral.

“I don’t know. I remember hoping that you wouldn’t. You had so much more to live for, so much promise for the world. Harry thought. . . He believes magic knew I would be reborn in him. That I would come back to you.”

Tom’s hugs were always warm, possessive, controlling, but he had learned to love and understand them, soften them. The grip he was under at the moment was rough, unused, and he wanted to cry at the state his love was in.

“I need to go, Tom. This isn’t my time, it’s Harry’s. I mean, I know he’s me, but, I’m just a memory,” he felt the burning sensation of tears behind his eyes, gripping Tom tighter. He didn’t want to let go again, to lose his soulmate again.

Tom pulled him from his grip, hand finding his jaw, and he was pulled into a forceful kiss. He sighed, knowing this was his goodbye, but also that Harry would remember this too. That this would be their gateway.

* * *

 

_“Albus wrote me recently,” he spoke softly, receiving only a grunt in reply. He sighed, continuing to leaf through his book, not understanding, or really caring, as to why his boyfriend hated Albus so much. “He said he finally met his soulmate, apparently, its some German fellow that was studying in his village.”_

_Thomas hissed, poking him in the thigh, “I don’t understand why you continue to speak with him.”_

_Humming, he flipped through page after page, finally content when he found the chapter he was looking for. “Well, someone has to listen to my research on soulmates, and if my own soulmate won’t do it, why not the only other-”_

_A hand covered his mouth, and his eyebrows shot up, eyes glancing to his boyfriend. Thomas was grinning at him rather childishly, even as he had been rather grumpily complaining about childishness only minutes before._

_He licked it._

_Thomas pulled his hand back, but didn’t look disturbed, or unhappy about that situation. “Tell me about your research, Thaddeus. Tell me what’s oh-so-interesting that you have to go to Albus Dumbledore, instead of me.”_

_He smiled knowingly, sensing Thomas’ jealousy rolling off of him in waves. He pulled the other boy down next to him, moving to get more comfortable. He laid his head on the other’s shoulder, enjoying the feeling when Thomas’ arm immediately moved to wrap around him._

_“Ok, well, did you know soulmates can’t kill each other with magic? They can hurt each other, can kill each other with muggle means, but there has never been a recorded case of soulmates killing each other with magic.”_

_Thomas just hummed as he spoke, hands trailing to entangle in his hair. He just leaned his head further onto his boyfriend’s shoulder, closing his eyes._

_“We still don’t fully understand memories and how we get them. If one never comes into contact with their soulmate up into their magical maturity, once maturity is reached they begin to receive memories ‘hinting’ at who their soulmate could be, and don’t begin experiencing true memories until they come in contact with each other.”_

_“However, if one comes in contact with their soulmate before maturity they immediately begin to gain memories of their past lives. If they stay separated for extended periods of time, the memories are dark, often containing death, and the person receiving the memory will not be able to see their soulmate. If the separation continues until maturity, a phenomenon known as ‘soul pains’ will happen.”_

_“Will soul pains happen to those who are not separated?” Thomas’ rich voice brought him out of his thoughts, shocking him for a moment as his mind tried to accept the question._

_“Um,” he mumbled uselessly, the hand in his hair still distracting him, “They can. It’s usually only in very powerful soulmates, or with soulmates who have been reborn a lot. It’s like magic trying to rush them together under the threat of pain or death.”_

_“Death?”_

_He hummed in response, feeling relaxed and tired. “Mhmm. Sometimes the soul pains will completely take over, especially if the soulmates stay separated. A lot of books I’ve read describe it as they’re souls ripping out of their bodies to be together. Apparently it can take a long time to be reborn, and the separation puts a lot of stress on them.”_

_He could still feel his book under his fingers, the relaxing hold his boyfriend had around his shoulders. He knew what Thomas was doing, trying to lull him to sleep so that he would stop rambling about soulmate this, soulmate that. Really, he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad._

_He had been lacking in sleep lately._

_“So what do you do to stop it?”_

_“Huh,” his voice came out distorted, his mind tired, his body cuddling closer to the comforting heat of his boyfriend. Thomas chuckled lightly, his grip tightening around him as he wiggled._

_“How does one stop the sould pains, Thaddeus? Or, did you forget you were telling me your research already?”_

_He whined, snuggling even closer, “They uh- they you know.” He could feel a blush rising on his cheeks, turning his head into Thomas’ chest, fully able to feel the rumbling chuckle._

_“No, I don’t believe I do.”_

_Whining again, more pitiful that before, deciding he wouldn’t ever speak about his research with his boyfriend ever again if it was going to result in embarrassment. “They accept each other as soulmates, and then-.”_

_He knew he mumbled the last part, making it so that even he couldn’t understand what came out of his mouth. The hand in his hair stilled, and he already missed the pleasant feeling._

_“What was that, Thaddeus?”_

_He knew Thomas was messing with him, trying to get him to say it, to get him to turn as red as the Gryffindor colors. He could feel the hand tugging at his hair, pulling his head up to make him face Thomas head on with a pout._

_“They fuck.”_

_The grin on Thomas’ face was purely sadistic, his eyes narrowed in unhidden glee. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?”_

_He opened his mouth to ask what the hell that meant, but that flew out the window when Thomas’ mouth slid over his. He moaned, oddly happy at the change of pace, enjoying when Thomas’ tongue invited his to a fight of dominance. Thomas may had been the more dominant of the two, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try._

* * *

 

Waking up was different, more difficult than it had been with previous memories. For once, he wanted to stay in the dream, to stay in the past. It was the first time he had ever seen his soulmate’s face, and he could still remember the strong jawline, the mischievous smile, those long, long fingers carding through his hair.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes in an unrecognizable room, realizing that this was what he had to expect in the rest of his life. It was dark, the sheets cool against his skin, and he very quickly noticed that he was _very_ naked. He sat up, carrying the sheet with him, to glance around the surrounding darkness.

Something about the room was familiar, a thought he chose not to dwell on as his eyes caught a note on the bedside table. He reached for it blindly, already recognizing the elegant scrawl taking over the page.

_Harry,_

_The conversation we had last night was rather enlightening. I had hoped to continue it, however you so kindly fainted on me. I expect to see you at breakfast, so that I may ensure you know all that will be expected of you._

__-Lord Voldemort_ _

 

With a groan, Harry stood, hoping to find some kind of clothes before he would be “expected.” He assumed someone would come find him, to escort him to wherever Voldemort was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also know it's, like, "cringey" or whatever, but I've been listening to Evanescence when I'm writing this. One that really fits for them, to me, is Lost in Paradise, the newer version from 2017.  
> Oh, and Thomas is Tom's past life, not actually him. It's confusing, but I'm running out of names.  
> Anyway, like always, if you have any questions or comments, you can hit me up on [tumblr!](http://fairytales-andfuckery.tumblr.com/)  
> If you ever have an extra $3 and would like to support me and my work, please consider looking at my ko-fi, link on my tumblr, or look me up under the same name!


	6. Oliver, Callum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I really want to thank the anonymous person who donated to me on ko-fi! That means a lot to me!  
> This chapter is where the fanfiction gets the explicit rating. There is sex, not once, but twice, though I honestly don't think I'm the best at writing it. I'm trying guys!   
> Also, another sneaky thing I've thrown in, the memories are now using names! Usually I just refer to Harry's POV as he, him, and so on, but now the names are mixed in there.

It had taken days, but Harry had finally gotten settled into his new life at Malfoy Manor, not that he often saw the Malfoys. After their first breakfast together, where Tom had told him the rules of his existence, they continued to have breakfast every morning, and dinner together most evenings. 

Tom always seemed to be expecting something from him, stealing glances at him from his newspaper, or whatever work he had brought to the table that time. For the most part their meals were silent, only broken by the sound of their silverware clashing. 

After breakfast, Harry would have free reign of Tom’s area, though he always had at least two guards dressed fully in death eater garb following after him. Sometimes he would find the third floor library, other times deciding a nap would be better in order to discover more memories. Sometimes he would follow after Tom like a lost puppy, huddling in the man’s office just to be close to him. 

It seemed to make Tom happy on those days.

He also didn’t know when it had changed from Voldemort to Tom. He knew the man still preferred it, still signed all his notes to Harry as Lord Voldemort, but whenever they spoke he was Tom. And, for some reason, the man seemed to accept it. 

“Harry.”

He glanced up from his book to take in the man who had seemed to take over all his thoughts. They had taken to sitting in the man’s study in the evening, often to discuss any memories or questions Harry had, and occasionally what was going on with the war effort. 

“Have you thought about what we discussed,” his rich tenor was calm, curling around Harry’s thoughts, distracting him from everything else. 

“Not really, no. My mind seems to be on other places lately. Something is telling me I’ll know when it’s time to think on  _ that _ .” That being their soul bond; truly accepting each other as soul mates and performing a ritual of the flesh that would tie their souls together permanently in this life. 

Basically, they had to have sex. Only then would they be able to be separated for extended periods of time without their souls literally tearing them to shreds. Apparently Tom was quite anxious to be able to leave without the feeling of death following him. 

Harry had, of course, researched the topic of soulmates soon after he had discovered that was what was haunting him, but the books in Hogwarts were sadly missing information. Information, that though Tom had some of, even he was missing out on. Tom was the one to inform him of the actual nature of the “ritual,” as he wasn’t sure how much he believed the memories of a hormonal teenage boy. 

Tom’s nose wrinkled, looking rather put off at Harry’s words. “You’ll know when it’s time? Harry, you’ve been here for two weeks, we could still die if we don’t tie ourselves together.”

Harry smiled, feeling a burst of mischievousness, “What makes you think I want to be tied to you? Maybe I’m just buying time, or using our closeness. It's a lot less painful to die when we’re close.”

The man was up in an instant, crowding into his space, and forcing him to look upwards at an awkward angled. His hand wrapped around Harry’s chin, eyes bright with irritation, a scowl on his lips. 

“Do you think I’m willing to die for you? I honestly don’t believe you’re  _ that _ stupid, to think of that. Tell me the truth Harry,  _ now _ .”

Harry grinned up at him, enjoying that even though he was trapped in this place with no hope of escaping Tom’s control, he still had enough power over the older man to make him  **react** . He wrapped his hand around Tom’s wrist, a light grip, enough to know he was there, but not enough to do much more. 

“Oh, please, Tom. Before you knew who I was, you spent most of my life calling me stupid,” He fluttered his eyes, enjoying the changing expressions on the man’s face. “And, if you think this whole threatening act is going to make me sleep with you, you’re  **_dead_ ** wrong.”

Tom’s scowl deepened into a sneer, his grip tightening. He leaned closer, and Harry could feel his breath on his lips. Thoughts raced through his mind, he hadn’t been kissed since the lockets betrayal. He hadn’t wanted to be kissed by anyone since the locket. 

But, Tom and the locket were the same person, weren’t they?

Harry released a breath, leaning upwards, closer to Tom, a flush on his cheeks, when the man pulled back with a satisfied smirk. 

“You are  _ so  _ **_easily_ ** affected by just my presence, and yet you still think it prudent to wait? That something else will tell you when we should be together?”

Harry whined as he pulled away, his grip tightening on the man’s wrist. His eyes were foggy in confusion, his mind lost in some haze that he didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t  _ time _ , not yet, not now, but maybe, maybe Tom was right?

“Kiss me and I’ll think about it.” Harry wasn’t sure where that had come from, Tom seeming equally as confused at his words. They sat in a shared silence, before Tom grinned wickedly, leaning forward to take control of Harry’s mouth. 

Harry sighed, automatically opening his mouth to Tom’s insistent prodding. He was reminded of his kiss with the locket, and how it felt that the horcrux wanted to taste and absorb all of him, but Tom’s kiss felt like  _ ownership _ , like he was trying steal Harry’s soul from his body. 

His fingers unwound from Tom’s wrist to fly into the man’s hair, a pitiful whine building in his throat. He felt heat, a different kind from the pain he had grown so used to, building in his stomach, a familiar flush covering his cheeks. He tried to push upwards, push closer to the man, because it felt so good, so  _ right _ , and he hated himself for it. 

But, there was a sound in the back of his mind, like a ticking of a clock leading down to the end of the kiss. They separated slowly, Harry panting into the open air, eyes wide as he took in Tom’s smug expression. He already knew what the next question was going to be coming out of Tom’s mouth, and he was shaking his head no, no, no, even though he wanted to keep going. He wanted to know what Tom would do, could do to him, and he never wanted Tom to stop kissing him like that. 

But it wasn’t time. It was like a ringing in his ears telling him to stop, they weren’t ready, they hadn’t truly accepted it yet, and he wanted to scream, to pull at his own hair. Why couldn’t it just be over, why couldn’t they just  _ finish it? _

Tom pulled away from him, disappointed and angry, and left the room, a stinging energy left cracking against Harry’s magic. He wanted to cry, call out to him, but something in him suspected that Tom also knew.

* * *

 

_ They were angry. Objects were flying, along with a few hurtful words on both sides. It was quite possibly the worst fight they had gotten in since they had gotten together. Their magic flew around them, painful and claustrophobic, angry tears flowing down his face.  _

_ “I can’t believe you, Laurence. You would say such things,” he was all angry words and movements, forceful and jittery with his magic.  _

_ “I said the truth, Oliver! They deserve to be below us, serving us like pigs! Maybe you don’t understand because you were raised by them!” _

_ He didn’t understand how his soulmate could be so cruel. What had he done in a previous life to deserve this man? Laurence, who believed muggles were nothing but animals to be tamed. Laurence, who wanted him to be nothing more than a handsome trophy to sit at home and wait for his return. _

_ Oliver knew he was much more than that, so much more than what Laurence wanted. They may have been soulmates, but that didn’t mean he had to accept anything. He wanted to travel, to live, to  _ fight _ ; and if fighting meant fighting Laurence, well. . . _

_ “Laurence, we already have separate worlds! Isn’t that enough,” his voice was quiet, flat, a challenge.  _

_ “It will never be enough.” _

_ There was a fury of wills, their magic too strongly matched as they ran at each other. A fist connected solidly with his jaw, but he felt his knee hit something warm and soft. Grunts came from both parties as they pushed and punched and grabbed at each other, a losing battle on both sides.  _

_ “Fuck  _ **you** _! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” Oliver pulled at the other man’s hair, yanking, scratching the man’s skin. Laurence responded in kind, long fingers wrapping around Oliver’s throat and  _ squeezing _.  _

_ They stared at each other, panting, gritting their teeth with an unmatched fury in their eyes, and an unknown feeling in their chests. They stared, confused, lost, an odd sense of acceptance filling their cores.  _

_ “You bit me,” Laurence stated, accusingly, but there was amusement in his tone, a quirk and the corner of his lips. _

_ “You’re choking me,” he mumbled in reply, but it wasn’t serious, he could obviously still breathe.  _

_ They stared a moment longer, eyes slowly closing, bodies moving closer. They met in the middle, the kiss forceful, still angry, still controlling, but a sense of rightness filled their bodies. They slid together easily, a hum coming from their cores, as if something had finally  _ **clicked** _.  _

* * *

 

Harry waited. Waited for days for that familiar click to resound in him as he watched Tom begin to fall further and further away from him. A subtle pain, not so different from the one that had led him to the man in the first place, had begun once more in his chest. It was an ache, an old wound that had been reopened when it had yet to heal in the first place.

In the beginning, he would have loved to have more time to himself, for Tom to leave him alone. But, now as he was sitting in Tom’s study for their usual nightly routine, he found himself missing the villain. He longed for the older man’s company, missing his presence far more than he would have liked. 

Tom seemed to want nothing to do with him since that night he refused him. He knew Tom was a grumpy bastard, but he still expected the man to at least somewhat understand that it wasn’t time yet. Wasn’t he feeling it too? That same deep want within him to be with the man, but hold off because something wasn’t ready just yet. 

He longed to feel that click, that something that matched their souls together like a puzzle peace just so he could have Tom look at him again. He wanted Tom to smile at him again, to discuss their memories, or whatever Harry had happened to find in a book. 

Harry groaned, throwing his head back against the lounge, eyes closed in discomfort. He wished Tom would understand, even if just for a moment. 

But, you know as they say, distance only makes the heart fonder. 

* * *

 

_ He was nervous, which was odd for him, having never really been concerned about being in sexual situations before. He had always been strong in his sexuality, confident in his own body, but something about his boyfriend always made him so unsure of himself.  _

_ He had turned 17 only days before, Marc two years his senior had begun eyeing him hungrily months before hand, a kind of hunger Callum had never seen in his boyfriend’s eyes before. They had been together in the past, Callum was obviously no blushing virgin, but the glances Marc kept throwing his way. . . _

_ It made him  _ want _.  _

_ He wasn’t even sure what it was he wanted, just that he wanted it. It was a warm, pulsing thing within him, aching to crawl its way out, and he knew the only way was to tighten his bond with Marc.  _

_ Callum knew they were soulmates, had known since the first time he had seen him at Hogwarts when he had been sorted into Slytherin and the older boy had caught his eye when he sat with his friends. He had tried to ignore it at first, deciding he had no need of relationships, until he began noticing anyone he showed interest in suddenly began steering clear of him in fourth year. Marc had given him a sly and knowing smirk, and not long after he had found himself sitting beside the older boy at meals. _

_ He had seen this coming, ultimately. He was 17 now, had finally reached magical maturity, and their cores were singing out to each other. He had never been scared of being with Marc before, but this was different, _

_ This was tying their souls together, forever.  _

_ “What has you so tense, my dear?”  _

_ He relaxed slightly, feeling Marc’s chest press up against his back. Marc’s arms wrapped around his waist, his lips attaching to Callum’s throat with a warm kiss. His head tilted to give his soulmate more space, sighing as Marc sucked and bit at his neck.  _

_ “I’m scared, Marc.” He decided to tell the truth, knowing that it was best to lay all his inadequacies out on the table. Why would Marc even want him anyway? _

_ “Of me? Love, we’ve done much worse.” _

_ He felt the chuckle against his back, and he held in a moan as Marc’s lips hit a particularly sensitive point. He felt bare, naked beneath the other’s hands as the roamed over his body. He shivered in Marc’s hold, gasping as a hand snuck beneath his underwear to grasp at his half-hard cock.  _

_ “N-no just that- Mmmm,” Marc’s hand wrapped around him loosely, gently pumping the flesh, his dry hand tugging at the skin. He threw his head back, laying it against Marc’s shoulder, mouth open wide as the other worked to draw moans out of him.  _

_ “No? What is it then,” the amusement was rich in his voice, and Callum could hear more than see the smile on his face. Callum’s eyes rolled back blindly, his toes curling in pleasure.  _

_ “Uh- um.”  _

_ There was another hand now, tugging his underwear down, giving the first hand more room to work. The cool air reached his cock, causing a spike of goosebumps all over his body, but he couldn’t find himself caring as he shook and moaned in Marc’s arms.  _

_ He panted openly, legs spreading to welcome Marc’s warm touch on his skin. Fingers were shoved roughly into his mouth, a stern command of “suck” falling onto deaf ears. He whined, tongue flicking and wrapping against the appendages, covering them in as much saliva as possible. There was another rumble at his back, signaling that he had done well.  _

_ The fingers were pulled from his mouth, and he was pushed forward, bent over the nearest surface.  _ Marc’s couch _ , his mind supplied readily,  _ he was bent over the couch in Marc’s apartment. _ A finger prodded at his entrance, gentle in its insistence, before shoving inside fully, and Callum keened.  _

_ The finger pressed into him, pressed against his insides hotly, leaving a trail of burning pleasure behind. He only thrust it once, twice, before adding another finger, scissoring and angling them differently, and it hurt, but felt so good at the same time. The fingers reached deeply, but not deep enough, not where he wanted, and he cried out, tense, grabbing at Marc, at himself.  _

_ It wouldn’t be the first time he had taken bare minimum prep, and at the moment, it was all he wanted. He rocked against those fingers, moaning loudly, wantonly, finding himself annoyed at the amused sound Marc kept making. His movements must have been the sign that he was ready, as those fingers soon left him, and he moaned at the loss, waiting,  _ waiting _ for the feeling of the head of his cock pressing into his entrance.  _

_ It was hot, so fucking hot, as it pressed inside of him, filling him up, and pressing in places Marc’s fingers couldn’t reach. He sucked in a breath, shaking, crying, tears falling from his eyes as Marc’s cock filled him. He took his sweet time, slowly filling him to the brim, waiting for him before moving fully.  _

_ “Go, do it, fuck me. Fuck me, Marc,” it was a mantra, fuck me, fuck me, it said, and Merlin did he mean it as he pushed back against him.  _

_ Marc shifted, pulling out slowly before ramming back inside, fucking Callum open like they had never fucked before. Callum cried out, his eyes rolling back, hands reaching out for something to hold on to as Marc continued his punishing pattern. He did it again, and again, and again, and Callum could only take it, calling out his name pitifully.  _

_ Marc’s hands gripped his hips tightly, and he knew he would bruise, that there would be reminders of this night for days to come. Marc lifted and moved him as he wished, changing angles as he searched for the spot to make Callum scream, _

_ “ _ **Marc!** _ ” _

_ There it was. Marc kept up his punishing pace, rolling his cock against Callum’s prostate repeatedly, enjoying the loud cries of his name his smaller soulmate screamed out. He could feel his own orgasm approaching, followed by the ever present soul bond, and it made him want to fuck Callum harder, make the younger scream louder.  _

_ Callum keened and whined, digging his fingers into the fabric of the couch for purchase against the rolling, building heat deep in his abdomen. With everyone of Marc’s frantic thrusts against his prostate his cock rubbed against the back of the couch, throwing him deeper into the pleasure of their bodies combined. Marc’s grunts and moans were in his ear, his magic wrapped so tightly around him he could choke. _

_ He came screaming his soulmate’s name, body crumpling against the solid surface of the sofa as Marc continued to have his way with him. He could tell by the stuttering of the older’s hips he wasn’t long behind, and he moaned sweetly when Marc stilled with a groan, his body suddenly filled with a bursting heat. _

* * *

 

Even days after that memory, Harry could look Tom in the eye, the very idea of it bringing a bright blush to his cheeks. Tom still seemed to be avoiding him like the plague, which for once seemed like a good thing while he tried to figure out what the man wanted (and still wanking over the memory of getting fucked out of his mind). 

He was still caught up on how Marc looked at him, or Callum,  _ whichever _ . His eyes had contained so much heat and affection, like Callum was the most perfect thing in the universe. Like his world revolved around him, and that they were perfect for each other, and he was the only one who knew it. Those eyes had been on Callum for months before his maturity, before they could bond fully, and that made Harry wonder. . .

Did Tom already feel the  _ click _ ?

Had Tom already felt the rightness of the universe, of their connection? Did he already feel their cores, their souls calling out to each other, crying out to be twisted and tied together for the rest of time? Did he already feel the urge to push himself so far under Harry’s skin he would never be rid of him, but somehow,

Somehow Harry was holding him back?

It made him feel powerful. To know that ultimately he was the master of their situation, of whether they lived or died in this mid-ground of hatred and pleasure was something he had not expected when he had come there.  _ He _ had  _ power _ over  _ Lord Voldemort _ , the most powerful wizard in the world. 

A new sense of warmth began in the pit of his stomach, and he felt an odd fear rolling off of his guards as he laughed. He had control over Tom. If only Hermione could see him now.

He walked to his room, technically Tom’s as the reason he had recognised it had been from their horcrux connection. The guards followed after him, more distant than usual after his little outburst, probably assuming he was going insane after being in the Dark Lord’s clutches for so long. Who wouldn’t?

He laughed again, feeling their terror as he opened the door, and wondering if he truly was going insane. There was a ringing in his ears as he closed it behind him, but he chose to ignore it, instead focusing on his new found power over Lord Voldemort. 

* * *

 

He awoke that night from a dreamless sleep with a new hunger in his belly and a cool sensation over his skin. His core seemed to ache with an energy he didn’t recognise, and he stood from the bed to accept the coolness of the room. He blindly began to strip, pulling his bed clothes off his sticky, sweat covered body, and still didn’t feel release when he was naked. 

He blindly tore through the closets and drawers of the room, feeling no peace until his hands came across a thin silky fabric. Pulling on the deep green robe, he felt a purr erupt from his chest in comfort, even as it only seemed to cover to mid-thigh. The robe gave him peace of mind for a moment before a voice in his thoughts said, find him, find him,  _ find him _ . 

The corridor was dark, and his guards were nowhere to be seen, meaning one thing- there was a meeting. 

Harry mindlessly walked, following the pull at his core, walking further and further away from the confines of the third floor. Something told him dining room, so that’s where he went, ignoring the dangers of walking freely and practically naked into enemy territory.

When he found them, all conversation seemed to end, and there was Voldemort, in all his snake-face glory. Gasps of shock and anger erupted around him, but he ignored them, eyes only for the man sitting at the head of the table. His steps were calm and even as he walked towards him, even as the yelling started, even as spells flew past him, even as he got close enough to sense the ugly glamour over the man’s features. 

The sudden silence was amusing, but not as much as the feeling he got from having those red eyes on him, and  _ only _ him. He smiled, sliding closer to the man, practically straddling his thigh, and almost laughing at a strained screech from behind him. 

Their faces were close, breaths intermingling as Harry smiled, his eyes lidded and amused. “When you’re finished with your silly game, come find me.”

He wasn’t exactly sure where the words came from, only that he was still hurt from Tom’s sudden abandonment. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss, almost more of a lick to the man’s jaw before removing himself from his lap. He took a happy look at the shocked, confused, and angry glances of the man’s followers before looking at him once more. 

“ _ It’s time _ ,” the words came out in a hiss, the parseltongue coming easily, and he didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes darkened at the tone. 

He laughed joyfully, immediately catching sight of two jerky movements of his unmasked guards. The sight made him want to laugh again, but instead he practically skipped from the room, knowing what sight he was leaving to the death eaters left inside.

Tom’s magic was still wrapped around him, tingling and biting his skin, tracking him to make sure he wouldn’t get too far as Harry ran back to his room. Being out of Tom’s section of the house, he could feel the shifts and tears in the wards as the man’s followers apparated out of the manor. 

He found himself lucky to have made it back to the room before he felt the tug at his core, a shift in the room and Tom was there, grabbing him, pushing him, and they tumbled together onto the bed. The man’s eyes were wild, lips hot as they pressed against Harry’s, hands searching Harry’s bare skin. 

Tom’s tongue took control of his mouth, of what seemed to be his thoughts, his back arching to meet the man’s chest, arms thrown over his back. His hands were pulling at the robe, feeling at his legs, his bare thighs, spreading them easily and his body fit in between them like he was always  _ meant _ to. 

Harry’s thoughts were flying, thinking no, this was too fast, too fast, but this was  _ them _ , and this was how this was always going to happen, how it was meant to. 

His lips were released for a moment, just enough for a quick murmur of a spell, and suddenly he felt slick at his entrance. He hissed at the feeling, but Tom’s mouth covered his again, and a finger prodded into him. His hiss turned into a choked groan, hips moving, enticing the finger deeper.

The finger soon turned to two, and then to three, and Tom seemed to be determined to suck his soul from his body as he moaned and sighed into his mouth. He rolled his hips, trying to get more of Tom, especially since the man seemed to be purposefully missing his prostate. He cried out into the man’s kiss, wiggling, shaking in his pleasure. 

Harry whined when the fingers left him feeling empty, Tom leaving his lips to share an entranced, hungry look with him. 

“Are you ready for this, Harry? Once we do this, there’s no going back.”

Harry nodded, capable thoughts escaping him as he watched the older man pull open his trousers, stroking his impressive length. Harry moaned at the sight, legs moving to wrap around the man’s hips, a silent cry to get a move on. 

The grin the man gave him was down right perverted as he lined himself up, and finally,  _ finally _ pressed inside. Harry’s back arched, eyes rolling as he felt the burning stretch of himself around Tom’s cock. The man pressed in slowly, inch by inch, until he had finally seated himself in Harry’s heat.

They sat in silence, the only sound being their shared pants for air as Harry adjusted. The pain was more than he had imagined, but the pleasure was even  _ more _ . After a moment, he tensed his legs, pulling Tom even closer, and he keened loudly, feeling Tom shift within him. 

“Tom, oh gods, do that again.”

The man chuckled, pulling back slightly before thrusting into Harry roughly. Harry’s entire body shook with the force, his voice caught in his throat as the man did it  _ again _ . Tom seemed to be losing himself in his pleasure, forcing himself into Harry’s body again and again and again.

And Harry screamed, lights flashing behind his eyes as finally that special spot was hit. His body tensed, his cock spurting against his stomach, and he could hear Tom laughing at him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

“Already, Harry?”

He moaned weakly, his body losing all strength as the man continued to thrust shallowly into his body, rocking against his prostate his acute accuracy. Tom’s grip changed, his thrusts becoming more violent, his groans shorter, breathier. Harry felt that his body would have moved farther up the bed with the strength of his movements if Tom hadn’t had such a tight grip on his hips.

He cried out, screaming Tom’s name repeatedly, feeling the man chase his own orgasm. His hands scrabbled for purchase against Tom’s clothed back, his eyes closed against the torment. 

“Harry, Harry,  _ my Harry _ ,” the words were mumbled against his ear and he felt the man seat himself fully in his body one last time, a burst of heat filling him. He cried out as Tom came inside him, his body falling heavily on top of him. 

His thoughts blurred, body tightening its hold around the older man, feeling an equally heavy grip around his own. His core was hot, burning, and he screamed, his body shaking as another orgasm was ripped from him, another wet heat filling his ass signalling that Tom had too. 

Their souls fought, twisted, and tangoed, making them gasp out and hold each other tightly. He could feel his mind going fuzzy, his body going weak, and no matter how much he tried to fight it, he felt himself pass out beneath his soulmate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For end notes, yes, both Harry and Tom are oddly acting different in this chapter. There is a reason! They're both under the influence of the soul bond, trying to force them to be together, so they're a little out of it, Harry more so than Tom. Harry will be back to his normal snarky self soon, I promise.   
> If you have any questions or comments, feel free to find me on [tumblr](http://fairytales-andfuckery.tumblr.com/)  
> And if you ever have an extra $3 and would like to support me and my work, please consider looking at my ko-fi, link on my tumblr, or just look me up under the same name.   
> Hope you enjoyed guys!


	7. Alexi, Cyril

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dark guys! It has physical abuse, and a brief mention of suicidal thoughts. This is where it get's serious, though I think there's only a few chapters left.   
> I hope you enjoy!

_ “Daddy!”  _

_ The childish squeal made him look up from his book, a smile on his lips as he watched his son toddle his way to the door of their chamber. He refused to allow the shadow of the man standing there distract him from the joy of seeing his child so happy. The toddler seemed so excited, he refused to allow that to be ruined.  _

_ “Hello, Damon.” There was his husband’s rich voice as he lifted the giggling child into the air, the boy firmly latching onto his father’s side. Seraphen always looked so distinctly proud of his son, of his small family. “Alexi?” _

_ His smile fell as his husband, his soulmate, acknowledged him, wishing the man hadn’t ruined the peacefulness of the moment. He turned back to his book, pretending not to notice his husband’s eyes searching his face for any reaction. He desperately tried to ignore the footsteps signalling the man moving further into the room.  _

_ “Alexi, please look at me.” Seraphen’s voice was quiet, pleading, even over the sound of Damon’s childish questions. _

_ “If you’ve finally come to take my son away, just do it, Seraphen.” Alexi kept his words calm, refusing to let his anger show, to argue in front of his child. “He can’t grow up in a cage. Just take him. Go.” _

_ He felt a gloved finger curl under his chin, and even as he felt the tears build behind his eyes, he allowed the hand to lift his glance. He stared into the dark eyes of his husband, stared at his child in his husband’s arms, and he felt a bubble of panic that he had tried so hard to keep hidden. He wanted to cry, to force his son out of Seraphen’s arms, to scream and fight, to refuse to allow his own child be another person speaking to him through a fucking door.  _

_ Seraphen must have been able to see the panic in his eyes, a smirk appearing on his lips. Alexi felt his panic turn to anger, an unhinged fury at his husband, his own soulmate, for forcing him into this situation. _

_ “I’m not taking Damon away from you, my sweet.” _

_ Alexi’s anger stopped short, eyes widening as he looked between his husband and his child once more. “Wha-what?”  _

_ His hand reached out automatically, a calming tic he had never truly gotten rid of, tangling into the man’s robes. He felt a sense of hope, that he thought he had long since lost, that he could keep his son, keep his baby, even though he knew the boy couldn’t grow up in these conditions. Damon had never seen outside of their cage, their sheltered room, that his overprotective father had forced them in before the child had even been born.  _

_ “I think that it’s time that you and Damon leave this room, no?” _

_ He gasped, a surge of happiness and surprise flooding through him, before his eyes narrowed and he was once again filled with anger. His fingers untangled from the man’s robes quickly, sending a harsh, stinging slap across his husband’s face, and ripping their child from his arms.  _

_ He pulled the screaming, startled toddler across the room with him, even as he felt the angry yet amused energy flowing off his husband. He cuddled Damon to his chest, eyes cold and angry as Seraphen stood across from him, blocking him from the door. His  _ jailor _. _

_ “No! You can’t just do this! Four years!  _ **FOUR YEARS** _ , Seraphen! You’ve kept me locked in here for four  _ fucking _ years, and now, all of a sudden, you’ve decided to let me out?” His voice was bridging on hysterical, and he was adult enough to admit that so was his mind. He was angry, scared,  _ desperate _ , and it seemed like his world was caving in on itself.  _

_ “What? Is it suddenly safe enough for me? Four years and it’s safe? Or, are you just bored now? No one else letting you  _ **_fuck_ ** _ them, Seraphen? Your little  _ **_fuck-toys_ ** _ not enough?” _

_ Seraphen was on him in an instant, crowding him, forcing his back against a wall. Gloved hands grabbed his face, squeezing and gripping tightly, forcing Alexi’s eyes forward. “There has never been anyone but you! How dare you accuse me of something so  _ vile _ , Alexi, and in front of our son? I love you, and only you.” _

_ Alexi felt his body be tugged into a forceful embrace, Damon trapped, but happy, in between them, and he was suddenly too tired to care. A sob ripped its way out of his throat, tears falling down his cheeks. He laid his head against his husband’s shoulder, allowing his sobs to take over him. _

_ “I was only trying to protect you,” Seraphen’s voice was so calming in his ear, soft and warm and welcoming. “I’m sorry. I love you. Let me take you home. Please?” _

_ He could feel himself nodding before he even thought of what the man said.  _

* * *

 

Waking up seemed to be a horrible affair. His mind felt foggy, the events of the past few days seemed out of focus at best, he had a headache from hell, there were aches and pains he didn’t want to understand, and an oh-so-familiar dry sticky mess on his stomach. And, to top it all off, he was  _ cold _ . 

Harry tried to curl in on himself, tried to conserve his own body heat, when the sudden stinging pain at the base of his spine stopped him. He groaned, quickly realizing that any sort of movement seemed to cause the same pain sending sparks up his back. He wanted to cry. Cry from the pain, cry from the shame, he couldn’t decide. 

“Please tell me you don’t intend to act like a child about this.” 

Harry jumped, startled at the sound of Voldemort’s-  _ Tom’s? _ \- no, Voldemort’s voice. He sat up, way to quickly if the signals his bottom were giving him meant anything, his eyes widening on the man. 

Tom-  _ Voldemort _ , was getting dressed, buttoning his shirt while watching Harry with amused red eyes. He looked perfectly put together, cheeks still tinted pink and hair still slightly damp from what Harry could only assume had been a shower. 

Harry felt the embarrassment radiating out of his body, eyes wide as saucers as he realized that Voldemort was very much so clothed and he was very much so  **_not_ ** . His hands curled, twisting into remnants of green silk, attempting to pull it into some sort of covering for his shame. He felt a heated blush cover his body as the older man eyed him, smirking in amusement. 

“There’s no reason to cover up, I’ve already seen all of you, Harry.” Voldemort stalked closer, Harry’s neck bending awkwardly as he watched. 

Something in him felt a soaring happiness at having all of the older man’s attention, but this was the clearest his mind had been in  _ weeks _ . He wasn’t going to lose focus now. He grimaced, glaring darkly, twitching out of the man’s touch as he tried to trace his cheek. Voldemort didn’t look disappointed, nor angry, just amused, entertained by Harry’s sudden aversion. 

Voldemort chuckled, turning to gather his cloak before staring Harry down once more. “The rules have changed.” He didn’t wait for Harry to respond before continuing, his smirk a constant as he spoke. “As you know, these are my rooms. I will be returning to them now that we have completed the bond, and you will be staying.”

Harry made a choked sound, yet Voldemort still continued, “Since your little show in front of my followers, they now know you are here. You may now explore the manor as you please, spend time with the Malfoy brat if you wish. They are under explicit orders not to harm you unless you try escaping, which you wouldn’t dare try, would you my  _ darling soulmate _ ?”

With his last words, Voldemort’s hands were on him again, forcing his chin upwards and wrists against his chest. He glared into the man’s red eyes, baring his teeth in anger, and getting a chuckle for his efforts. The man looked down at him like he was a pet, an experiment he had yet to see the end result of, and he  _ hated _ it. He wanted to curse him, punch the snobby smirk right off his face, but he knew more than anything he wouldn’t win at this moment. 

There was a demanding kiss on his lips, angry, heated, and persistent in trying to get Harry to join in. The ringing in his ears only got louder the more he tried to deny it, gasping into the kiss. An energy he didn’t understand connected and tied them, singing them praises and absorbing his breath as they touched. There was a harsh feeling, a fire in his stomach, rage in his mind, and blood flowing from his lip, the older man seemingly happy as he sucked it into his mouth. 

Harry almost fell over when he was released, eyes blinking blindly as Voldemort grinned cruelly down at him. Not a hair seemed out of place on the man, even as he had Harry’s blood smeared on his lips, the crimson color and eerie match to the color of his eyes. 

“Your guards will be waiting for you outside. I expect to see you at breakfast in an hour, clean and ready to talk, my  _ soulmate _ .”

And the man left him, leaving his damnable chuckle ringing in Harry’s ears. Harry suddenly felt all of his energy leave his body, collapsing against the bed with a weak sob. He didn’t want this, didn’t want any of this, this life, this power Voldemort held over him. He didn’t want to be trapped in the Malfoy manor, didn’t want to be stuck with his parents’ killer tied to him, forcing him to sleep beside him. 

He hated the aches and pains in his body, despised the part of him that was purring, content at what they meant and the possibility of more to come. He felt more trapped than ever, in more danger than he had ever felt living at the Dursley’s or being on the run. Nothing of this felt like the fairytales one told of finding your soulmate. 

Slowly, slowly, he lifted himself from the bed, feeling every ache of his bones as he shifted his way across the room. He nearly fell over and vomited at the sudden feeling of something slipping out of him, dripping down his legs. The idea of it brought a new set of tears to his eyes, but he pushed forward despite the feeling, forcing himself to the bathroom.

Where, oddly, he found a bath already prepared. He looked at it distastefully, fearful for a moment, before deciding it was his best, if not only option, as he didn’t think he could handle standing in the shower. 

The water was warm, almost hot, nearly the perfect temperature as he slipped into it, a sudden wave of scents surrounding him. He tried to recognize some of the smells, but quickly lost interest as the heat began to seep into him, easing the soreness that had been tormenting him since the moment he had awoken. 

He sighed, for the first time that morning, feeling relaxed.

As he laid there, he began to wonder, to think, trying to decipher just when Voldemort had returned to his underlings to give new orders. When had he had the time, in between their bonding and their awakening to call his followers back, or had he possibly just passed the message through Lucius himself? Had the elder Malfoy been allowed inside, to witness Harry’s shame, to see what he had allowed Voldemort to do to him? He shuddered at the thought.

A knock resounded at the main door, somehow reaching him in the silence of the bathroom. “Young Lord Harry, the Dark Lord would like me to remind you that you have five minutes before you are required to meet with him.”

Harry curled up in the bath, sliding his eyes closed as he laid his head against his knees. “Fuck you! Fuck him! Leave me alone!”

He knew he wouldn’t be left alone, knew that if he didn’t go, either that guards would drag him to Voldemort kicking and screaming, or the man would come get him himself. He felt like screaming, like banging his head against the bath until he blacked out, or drowned. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t the life he wanted. 

He could feel his time running out, like the ticking of a clock, could feel Voldemort’s amusement through their link. The man would come himself, Harry knew, and he had nowhere to hide. Voldemort was known for punishing his followers for the smallest of acts, disobeying a direct order from the man practically a death sentence. 

So, Harry stayed in the bath, and waited. He felt every moment the man got closer, knew the moment he was outside the bathroom door, didn’t even have to look up to know those red eyes were looking at him. He stayed still, keeping his eyes closed, hoping, though stupid, that the man would somehow believe him dead, and just throw him out, leave him to the elements. He could go back to Hermione. . . the tent. . . to horcruxes. . .

There was a gentle hand on his cheek, so soft against his skin that he barely believed it was there, before it turned rough. It slipped beneath his jaw, wrapping firmly around his throat and slamming his head against the tub. 

Harry gave a choked scream, eyes flying wide as he stared into the grinning red eyes of his attacker. His nails scratched against the man’s arm, having no effect as he choked, the man laughing at him, laughing at his pain.

“Tell me, Harry. Did you know that soulmates cannot kill each other with magic, but they can harm each other? Of course, I can torture, and if I so choose, find a way to kill you without killing myself with muggle means.”

Harry nodded desperately, gasping for air as the man’s grip lessened slightly. The ringing in his ears was getting louder, his eyes pleading helplessly against the man’s attack. Harry already knew the truth, but to have it put so plainly hurt him for reasons he didn’t know. 

Voldemort wasn’t with him out of love, was simply with him because he had to be, and the moment he found a way out of it, Harry was better off dead.

Voldemort looked at him, a cocky grin on his face, eyes filled with danger. “Looking at you, I’m tempted to let this be it, to finish your punishment here. All you have to do is sit at breakfast just like this, scared, wet, and naked. Just as ready for me as you were last night when you were prancing around in nothing but that thin robe.”

Harry didn’t think, and he could admit he often didn’t in these situations when anger and fear override and instinct takes over. He feels the spit leave his mouth before thought registers, his mind stopping in sudden, horrified shock as it hits the man on the cheek. 

He recognizes the grin of absolute terror before feeling his head slam against the tub once more.

* * *

 

_ “Who’s a pretty princess?” He cooed, lifting the giggling girl into his arms. The infant squealed, hands patting against her parent’s face. Never more had he been happier that he had taken a break from his duties to take care of his daughter. _

_ “You are, my little Isla, a pretty little princess.” He pressed kiss after kiss to the child’s petal soft skin, enjoying the sound of her quiet laughter. “You don’t even know, do you? A little princess to such powerful families, you’re going to grow up so spoiled little one.” _

_ “Yes, she is.” The rich, amused tone swallowed his thoughts, and turned to his husband with a wide smile.  _

_ “Hello, love. I didn’t know you had returned,” He carried their daughter over to the man, happily pressing himself into his embrace. Their child giggled and cooed joyfully, patting both of her parents with her tiny hands. _

_ “I couldn’t wait to come home to you and our little treasure here.” There was one of William’s rare smiles, his eyes light as he looked down at them.  _

_ Cyril stood on his tiptoes to press a kiss on his husband’s lips before pulling away from his embrace to rock their small daughter as she began to fuss. Her tiny fingers curled into her father’s hair, her small voice cooing up at him as he danced them around the room, a hum in his throat. _

_ “I wish this could last forever,” he sighed, pressing the infant close to his chest. Isla whined softly at the treatment, bright blue eyes wide with unshed tears. _

_ “What do you mean, my love?” _

_ Cyril turned, a sad smile on his lips. “I wish I could stay here. I wish I could live this life, but I have to go back to my own. You don’t love me. You can’t, can you?” _

* * *

 

“I’m not having children with you.” 

Days after their last interaction, Harry had finally come to peace with their current arrangement. As long as Harry didn’t disobey him, they would get along just fine without torment from either party. 

He had thought Voldemort felt remorse when he had first woke up after the tub incident. The man had even gotten Lady Malfoy to come heal him, and he had awoken without the slightest headache or pain. He didn’t expect an apology from Voldemort, deciding that that was the closest he would be getting.

“Excuse me?” Voldemort’s drawl was painful to hear, his eyebrows raised, yet he made no move to look in Harry’s direction.

“Children. You. Me.  **None** .” Harry stared at his plate, fully planning on not looking at the older man until he finished speaking. “Every time we’ve had kids in the past, something bad happens. Not to mention you’re-  _ you _ .” He didn’t feel the need to mention August, and why or how August felt the need or want to have children with the monster before him. 

Voldemort hummed lightly, an odd, angry sound that Harry didn’t like. “I’ve never cared for children, Harry. I don’t know what would have brought this on, but I don’t find myself caring. You can take your mind off of your past lives and focus on this one.”

Harry felt anger curling deep in his belly, but chose to ignore it, to ignore the monster he was sitting next to. His mind still raced through his memories of his former families, his past lives filled with love and happiness. He wondered where those opportunities went, why he seemed to have no chance to be happy. 

He almost wanted to go back, to feel the same feelings from before they bonded, when magic was tricking them and forcing them together. He wished to go back to those emotions, to the mindset where his only goal was happiness at his soulmate’s side. It seemed that the clarity of his thoughts were both a blessing and a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this was to show that Tom is definitely still Tom, no matter what, even if a different life. He's going to get "nicer," mostly because they're in what I'll call the rebound stage, something I plan on explaining more later. Tom is evil guys, let's not forget that.  
> Also, Seraphen did not cheat on Alexi! While he did something very bad and awful to Alexi, he would never cheat on him.


	8. August, Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, interesting thing about this chapter, there are no memories! At least, from Harry's perspective, so that makes things interesting. Hope you guys enjoy!

“ _ Tom. . . _ Tom, come back to bed.” Harry’s voice called softly, eyes glazed over from slumber, a sweet, coy smile on his lips. He cuddled further beneath the warm covers, watching his soulmate,  _ lover? _ , get dressed just outside of his reach. His mind had a warm, happy fog surrounding it, and he just wanted to relax into the feeling.

The man looked at him oddly, red eyes searching his relaxed form and happy glance. “Excuse me?” 

Yet, he stepped closer, Harry’s invitation seeming too good for him to refuse. Harry grinned, a intense, uncontrollable giddiness at having his soulmate’s attention on him and  **only him** producing a call from his core, pulling the older man in. He held out his hand, an invitation back into the comforts of their shared bed, lifting his chin and baring his throat in what he hoped was an enticing submissive display. 

There was an urge, a desperate need, for him to have the older man back beside him. 

Tom cooed, and purred, and pressed his fingers against Harry’s throat, sliding and massaging against the skin of his jaw, his nape, his cheeks, and into his hair. Harry could have giggled, could have laughed and sighed as the mattress shifted beside him, as Tom’s touches lingered, got firmer as they tugged and pulled at the delicate hairs at the base of his skull. He could have moaned as his head was tilted back even further, and red met mirthful green. 

“What’s this? Harry Potter calling out for me, for my touch?” The man leaned closer, their breaths mingling so close they were, crimson eyes bright with lingering amusement. “Has the great and mighty chosen one finally learned his place?”

Harry giggled, content to wiggle beneath the older man, lightly dragging his fingers up his clothed sides and chest. His insides warmed, a curling inferno when the man shivered under his touch, his body reacting immediately to the amount of control he had over his soulmate’s reactions.

“Maybe I did.” He pushed upwards, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on Tom’s jaw, enjoying the way the man stilled above him. “You’ve been leaving a lot, Tom. Leaving me all alone for days at a time, why is that?” 

“I do still have a war to win, you know,” Tom purred, his voice sounding pleased. His eyes were filled with pride, an immeasurable pleasure as if he believed he had won something. His touches turned gentle, pleasing as he continued to press and slide his fingers along Harry’s throat. “The war did not end when I caught you.”

Harry hummed, a soft, amused sound, his fingers digging into the older man’s sides, as if the action alone would allow him through the man’s shirt and allow him to feel flesh. “Don’t you have lackeys for that? Who would gladly do whatever it is you are doing on these long outings of yours?”

“I still have to give them orders, Harry.” The man still sounded entirely too pleased for Harry’s liking, “And do you really think I trust those fools enough to handle such important business?”

“Enough to watch over me? Enough to keep me trapped here without my darling soulmate’s presence?” His tone was laced with a sugary sweetness, only matched by the darkness in his eyes as he pressed kiss after kiss on the man’s jaw. “How long do you plan to leave me for this time? Days? A week? Stay in bed, Tom.  _ Stay with me. _ ”

“ _ Harry, _ ” His tone was amused, yet lost, his grip tightening and loosening ever so slightly as he listened to Harry’s words. 

“ _ Shhh _ ,” Harry hushed him, pressing his lips Tom’s in a mockery of a sweet, innocent kiss. Hunger filled his senses, pressing and curling inside his stomach as he leaned into the man above him. He groaned, happy at feeling Tom’s mouth slide against his, tongues fighting in a familiar act of dominance. 

He could feel Tom’s nails in his skin, his teeth biting into his lips. Every pain sent a shock of pleasure running through him, adrenaline and arousal coursing through his veins. He shivered under the man’s touch, sighing his pleasure into the man’s mouth, accepting Tom’s groans as his own.

Heat burned his senses, tainting and bursting through his pleasant, sleepy fog. It shattered, like fragile glass in a distant memory, forcing his mind, his thoughts back to the here, to the  _ now _ . His eyes blinked open, comically wide, his hands desperately trying to push the man off of him. 

Tom grunted, forcing his body off of Harry with a grimace. His eyes were narrowed, darkened as they searched Harry’s quickly retreating body. His glare deepened as he watched Harry’s back hit the wall, his knees hitting his chest. 

“I- what, why?” Harry’s breath came too quickly, yet not quick enough, his wide eyes searching the room in confusion.

Tom chuckled, his eyes amused, “It seems our connection is stronger than I originally believed.” He reached outwards, forcefully gripping Harry’s chin in a mockery of a lover’s touch. “When we are separated for too long, the bond will attempt to connect us once more. Though, it seems only after you discover the same energy you had when we bonded in the first place.”

Tom leaned forward, forcing himself into Harry’s space, crowding him against the wall. His hand gripped Harry’s chin tightly, pulling his face closer, “So, tell me. What is that feeling? What makes you  **_want_ ** me so  **_needily_ ** ?”

Harry shivered. He felt like he was drowning, losing himself in the intense look in his soulmate’s eyes, of the evil smile on Tom’s lips. He could  _ feel _ him, feel the man poking around in his thoughts, searching for an answer that he did not have; could feel  _ something else _ poking him, warm and insistent as the man pressed against his body and mind. 

And it made him. . .  **angry** . 

It made him angry, and hot, and out of breath, as his mind raced and body tensed.  _ Get out, get out, get out, GET OUT. _ The mantra only got louder and louder, as he glared back at the amused killer holding him down, his mind and soul screaming.

“Get off of me.” Harry could hear how he sounded, cold, stern,  _ broken _ . It was a command, blunt and easy, settling the room into a tense silence.

Tom blinked, his eyes clouding for a moment as he seemed to literally leap from the bed, standing as far from Harry as possible. They stared, confused, angry, at each other, a fury burning through their link, uncontrollable and destructive as their minds twisted together.

“ _ What did you do? _ ”

Harry glared, refusing to admit that he had  _ no clue _ . One moment the man was crowding him, and the next he was across the room because Harry told him to. Even as their link reconnected fully, he could feel the confusion, the unsureness of even being in the same room as the other. It was painful and beautiful mixed into one package.

Tom sneered, summoning his cloak, not taking his eyes off of Harry once. “I will be gone for most of the day. I expect to see you at dinner.”

With that, the man left the room without a second glance, leaving Harry to cower in their bed. 

* * *

 

“So, he’s you’re. . . you’re his. . . soulmates?” 

Harry sighed, closing his eyes and throwing his head back against the lounge, forgoing the little pureblood training Narcissa had immediately tried to push on him. The woman seemed to think that if he learned proper etiquette that he would be permitted out more often.

Fat chance.

He had begun spending more time with the Malfoys since Voldemort had begun leaving more and more. They had been oddly welcoming of his presence, Draco even more so. He seemed to attach immediately to the idea of them being friends, and Harry was alright with that, it beat the loneliness, but sometimes Draco just didn’t know when to stop asking questions. 

“Yeah, Draco. Fate thought it would be great to fuck us over even more, so why not add soulmates into the mixture.” He knew he was being snippish, but he was so tired. Voldemort had been bugging him every night, reminding him that if they didn’t “reconnect” he would go under the hazy curse again. Then the man would leave for hours, seemingly testing the strength of their link. It was starting to exhaust him.

Along with Draco’s questions. “Please don’t ask me if I’m sure. I know we’re soulmates. There’s enough proof at this point.”

“But, it's so rare! It was rumored only purebloods could have soulmates now, and even then it was a so rare it’s unexpected to see it happen.” Draco was rambling now. From the few weeks he had spent time with him, he quickly learned that Draco was a rambler when upset or thinking too much. “It’s supposed to be magic’s way of saying two people are too perfect for each other to ever stop existing, but you were born to be the Dark Lord’s enemy!”

“I know all that, Draco.” Truthfully, he had never heard the whole “too perfect to stop existing.” What a ridiculous way of describing his situation. He turned to Draco suddenly, his eyes filled with a sudden amusement. “Besides, you know two soulmate couples made up of half-bloods.”

“I do?” Draco’s nose wrinkled, something else Harry noticed him doing a lot. “And who is that?”

“Dumbledore.”

Draco made a choking sound, backing up suddenly as if he had been shocked. He looked around the room, eyes searching as if someone were going to come crawling out of the shadows from the sudden announcement. “Does- does the dark lord know?”

Harry shrugged, leaning back into his seat and watching Draco’s panic with an amused smile. “I would assume so, if he has the same memories that I do. In one of my lives, I was apparently a friend of Dumbledore’s when he was young. We were researching soulmates together, and obviously Tom-  _ Voldemort _ knew about it, he was there.”

Harry wondered that himself, if Voldemort had any of the same memories of their past lives he did. If the man did, he certainly never spoke of it, and never seemed particularly entertained if Harry did. No matter how much he prodded at the subject the man stayed silent about the subject.

“I guess that means you two really are equals.”

“Excuse me?” Harry’s thoughts stopped short, turning to look in exasperated confusion at the other boy sitting next to him. Draco didn’t look bothered by Harry’s sudden shock, still entirely focused on his own thoughts. “We are very much so not equals. That man makes sure I know that every chance he gets.”

“But, your magic, your very souls, make you equal. From what I understand, each couple’s dynamic is different, has different qualities that make them equal, like. . . suppose one of you has more magical strength, but the other will be able to command them with just their words. They would be equal if they fought, technically.” Draco was getting more excited, his voice higher as he spoke.

“Where did you learn all of this, Draco?” Harry stopped him, confusion a pit in his stomach. 

He looked embarrassed suddenly, a light plink flush covering his pale cheeks, grey eyes looking anywhere else but at Harry. “Well, we kind of grow up on these stories. . . Purebloods do, anyway. And I always hoped that I would. . . I would have a soulmate.” 

Draco’s eyes flicked to and away from Harry’s face in quick succession, and a sudden dawning occurred to him. Draco had grown up hoping for a soulmate, and had been hoping it would have been  _ him _ . Harry felt his own cheeks flush, a deep and intense sadness filling his chest. 

He had never felt that way towards Draco, and he was pretty sure given the chance he never would have; but knowing that there had been those feelings in the first place. The chance for a different life than the once he had now. If only. If only he could have those feelings. If only he had been given the opportunity.

“Draco, I’m-”

“No, it’s ok, Harry. It was never meant to be me, and I get that.” Draco smiled sadly, the expression odd on the pureblood heir. “I think something told me it was always going to be you and someone else.”

They sat in a shared silence, a sort of understanding forming between them. The room grew chilly, and Harry knew that soon, too soon, Voldemort would return and expect him in his presence. It was a lonely feeling, sitting beside someone, but having nothing but emptiness and fear to respond with. 

“Do you know what makes you equal?” Draco’s question was quiet, his eyes staring blankly at a wall, as if his question would ruin their calm camaraderie.  

Harry thought, focusing on every interaction he had with the older man, thinking and cataloguing everything and anything it could be. He wasn’t even sure what it could be that made Voldemort match him, what he could do to make his soulmate attune to him and only him.  But, one thing kept popping into his head no matter what thought process he tried to follow.

“I can make him react.”

* * *

 

“We need to talk.” It took him days to build up the courage to breach this conversation, to open the door to Voldemort’s office, to willingly put himself in the man’s domain, in a place of danger. He had to push himself past the richness of the man’s magic, of his irritation of Harry’s presence.

“I don’t recall requesting for you to enter this room, Harry.” The man was sitting there, tensed behind his desk, leaning over his work with an irritated grimace. He didn’t look at Harry as he stood there, didn’t look up from whatever paperwork he had been working on. 

Harry entered the room anyway, a shy but energetic smile on his lips despite his rising anxiety. The door closed behind him with a click, closing them inside, and his two concerned guards in the hall. They had warned him against walking inside the man’s office uninvited, but he needed to take him out of his element to get the answers he wanted, needed to surprise him.

“I don’t recall listening to your requests, so here I am.” He spoke slyly, trying to push as many buttons as possible. Anything to get a reaction. Anything to test his theory. 

Irritated red eyes met his, an unrelenting fury lying beneath the surface. It almost made Harry want to back out, to apologize and run away, but he knew what he needed to do. He pushed through his unease, through the thick feeling of Voldemort’s magic resting in the air, testing his limits. His steps were easy, though his heart beat rapidly in his chest, his thoughts pleased as the man watched him.

“What. Do you want?” 

Harry’s smile brightened, and he leaned visibly against the desk, resting his palms against the warm wood. “I told you, we need to talk.” He pressed closer, eyes lidded, “Indulge me, Tom, would you?”

The man grimaced, yet leaned closer to Harry, his body stretching across the desk, as if he had an equal reaction for whatever Harry did. “What. Do. You. Want?”

Harry’s smile somehow widened even further, enjoying the tenseness in the air. “Tell me about August.”

The room went still, Tom’s eyes darkening drastically, his expression turning blank. He stood, rounding the desk, his steps like thunder as he crowded Harry against it. Harry refused to back down, staring his soulmate in the eyes as he glared down at him, easy smile never once leaving his lips.  

“ _ August? _ ” The hiss came out long and slow, curling around Harry’s thoughts and settling in his stomach with a warm press. He could of questioned how good it felt, how nice it was to see the bright red eyes turned dark; to hear how the man’s rich voice went deeper, husky, even in the language of snakes. It was an excellent distraction. 

“ _ Yes. _ ” He almost found it too easy to hiss a reply, the hiss slipping past his lips with ease, a warm heat filling his body as his soulmate’s eyes watched every movement his lips made. “How did we meet, Tom? How did it feel? What happened to you after I died?”

“You don’t want to know that.” Tom’s voice was a whisper, his hands moving to press into Harry’s sides, grip tight and unrelenting, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise. “It's an awful story, filled with death. You seem to forget that I am not a good person, and certainly not subject to whatever whim you feel at the moment.” 

Harry could feel the energy being pressed into his core, heating and soothing his insides, trying to distract him from the situation at hand. He nodded, arms moving to wrap lazily around the older man’s shoulders, his eyes blinking slowly. “Indulge me, tell me anyway.”

Tom snorted, an odd unrecognizable sound in his ears. “I found you,  _ August _ , on the streets, a half-blooded orphan bastard, barely knowing the first thing about magic. I had planned on leaving you there to rot, I had no use of some weak brat. But, something called out to me, be it your looks, your soul, at the time I did not care. I took responsibility for you, and brought you into the magical world.” 

“I introduced you to a very specific group of my followers, and it was through Abraxas that we learned what it was that called you to me. I had never gotten any of the properties of a soulmate, and if you had, you never said as much. You took your place at my side, and introduced new ideas and plans, you were quite possibly the greatest thing to happen to me, and to my followers.” 

Tom’s grip suddenly tightened further, sending shocks of pain up Harry’s spine, a small gasp escaping his lips. His body was suddenly filled with agony, raw and uncontrolled fear and sadness, pressing against his every thought.

“But, you died. Murdered. I came back from my outing, the same day I had gotten the locket, to find you and our son dead on a filthy staircase, like you were nothing more than vermin, your body destroyed in ways I couldn’t possibly imagine. I hated you, then, for dying. For leaving me. For being nothing more than weak trash on the ground. The phantom pains from you being ripped away from me haunted my every waking moment. I still hate you.”

Tom pressed a heated kiss to his jaw, his hands digging beneath his shirt to press fully against heated, bruised flesh. Harry felt himself twitch at the feeling, but refused to react otherwise, for fear that Tom would stop his story. 

“I found a whore, he had looked rather similar to you. I recall the fool attempting to solicit me several times before, having discovered my preferences. I had invited him into our home, and tried to force your soul into his body. It didn’t accept it, and only ended up killing him. It sent me into a rampage, a time of my life I do not fully recall. The whore died in order to become one of my horcruxes, and I fled the country. I fled my memories of you. Of August.”

Harry felt teeth on his jaw, felt Tom suck and kiss on the skin until he knew there would be a mark. He sighed softly, relaxing into the man’s hold, even as the story began to disturb him, to make him worry for the man holding him in his arms.

“I still remember how you felt, limp and cold in my arms. I remember the absolute fury the filled me, that took control of everything I did. I killed and I maimed, and I never once thought of you, until I tried to kill you as an infant.” He pulled Harry flush against his body, whispering into his ear.

“I knew it was you, something in me  _ knew _ . I had never once gotten memories of our past, and still now its rare, but  _ suddenly _ , when I saw your face, it came rushing back. All I had tried so desperately to forget rushed back to me, and I was furious. I had survived you dying the first time, I could definitely get by with killing you. I didn’t need you, you were better off dead. You are better off dead. Yet, here you are, aren’t you?”

Harry nodded, the desperate feeling still pressing against him, even as his body remained placid under the man’s touch. He leaned fully against Tom’s body, enjoying the heat radiating off of him. His mind raced as he wondered how far he could take this moment, how far he could stretch his luck. 

“Now, tell me, Harry,” Tom’s voice was a purr, his breath gentle against Harry’s ear. “Why the sudden questioning of our past times together?  _ Interested? _ ”

Harry shivered, absolutely understanding what the man was insinuating, knowing that in most of his memories they had had very passionate sex lives. The idea sent a warm hit of arousal in his belly, but he fought to keep his mind clear, smiling slyly. “I was just trying to find out if you hated it as much when he did it too.”

He was starting to feel a rush every time he caused the man to still, every time the man reacted to something he said or did. The energy in the room changed, swirling and curling around them, as Tom’s confusion mingled with his own thoughts.

“Hated what?”

Harry giggled sweetly, leaning his head against Tom’s shoulder, “Oh, you know. I’ve just discovered what made us equals, and knowing what I know of you. . .” He leaned up, gently, slowly, pressing his lips against Tom’s ear. “You hate it don’t you? Knowing I have some sort of power over you?”

There was a  **bang** , a  _ crack _ as he felt his head hit the door, the entire thing rattling against his back. His voice rang out in a surprised cry, a confused laugh following quickly behind, Tom’s fury and  _ arousal _ radiating through him. 

“ _ You must be confused, Harry. You have no power over me, and you  _ **_never_ ** _ will. _ ” Harry truly must of angered him for the parseltongue to reappear, to take full control of the man’s mouth. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, my darling soulmate.” Harry lifted himself, swiftly wrapping his legs around the older man’s waist, pulling them oh-so much closer, even as Harry remained pressed against the door. “I can make you react in an instant. I can make you angry, aroused, interested, all in a  _ matter of seconds. _ And. You. Hate. It.”

Harry rolled his hips, grinning at Tom’s surprised grunt, at the sudden wide red eyes. Heat pressed and rolled between them, curling and tying their bodies together, a pinched feeling forming in Harry’s stomach, calling for him to claim and be claimed. 

Tom seemed to feel it too, pink rising to his cheeks, his lips moving with a silent spell that sent their clothes flying across the room. They shivered, their bodies touching, combining their heat and allowing their magics to entangle without restrictions. Their lips met, teeth clacking together, Tom pressing himself into Harry’s body, and absorbing every sigh and groan Harry made. Tom bit at Harry’s lips and tongue, sucking every spilled drop of blood, tasting every part of Harry as possible.

Every rattle and sound the door made was loud against the silence of the room, and Harry could feel the awkward fear from his guards still waiting on the other side. It only surged another round of excitement in his blood, knowing they could hear as his voice got higher, as he screamed the Dark Lord’s name; they would hear every rattle and movement they made against the door, and they would  _ know _ . 

He was prepped quickly, already sighing and crying out for the man to get a move on, his thighs burning from their place around the man’s hips. Every thrust of the man’s fingers brushed against his sweet spot, renewing his energy, making him press and mewl against his soulmate, crying out as the sensations only got stronger. 

Tom’s cock filled every inch of him, pressing against every spot possible, and he curled against his new found lover with a loud, high-pitched whine. Tom chuckled darkly in his ear, his hips stuttering as he slowly began a rough-set pace, slamming Harry’s head and shoulders into the door. The burn was delicious, the pain of hitting the door only allowing pleasure to rest in his thoughts. 

It was over quickly, Harry forcing his hips down onto Tom’s cock and chasing his orgasm until his mind blanked with a warm white heat. Every one of Tom’s thrusts now seemed painful, his body over-sensitive, his own cock now sitting limp against his stomach. 

Tom’s grunts turned darker, thrusts slower and deeper, his body pressing into Harry with wild abandon. Harry sighed and moaned, luring the man deeper and deeper into his own satisfaction, until his movements stopped, body releasing into Harry’s with a hungry sound.

Harry sighed, resting fully against the door as his body cooled and relaxed. He suddenly felt exhausted, painfully over-used, but oddly, he found himself alright for finding himself in his current situation. The exhaustion was taking over, the relaxed fog over his thoughts pushing everything else out but  _ sleep, rest,  _ **_sleep_ ** . 

It felt nice when he closed his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also been hitting a major wall of writer's block, so if anyone is interested, on my tumblr you can send any questions about whatever story/character you want (even to characters if you so choose, you just have to let me know what character and from which fanfic), or if you have any drabble/plot ideas to share. I'm going to try and beat this writer's block guys! If you have any questions or a drabble idea I would love to hear it over on my blog, any thing helps!


	9. Hadrian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long! I promise that I am trying to get back on schedule, but I'm still kind of stuck in writer's block mode. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's a little confusing, but if you have any questions I'll gladly answer them and try to make any sense of what's going on.

_ It was easy enough to sneak inside the ball, his features were recognizable enough even as a bastard child. Apparently the Selwyn’s had strong genes, not that he would know much about that. He found himself lucky that no one knew what had happened to his mother, slipping practically unnoticed through the eager party-goers, intent on his plan.  _

_ He needed to allow the other half-blood protesters into the ministry, let them fill the room and distract the other guests while he fulfilled his true purpose. While the protesters caused a distraction, Hadrian was going to  _ kill _ the man in the lead for position of Minister, Erik Gaunt. The position was practically being handed to the man. _

_ Gaunt came from a powerful, dark family, hated half-bloods and muggleborns, and could talk his way into anything. Hadrian had never physically seen the man, only blurry images from the papers, but his attractiveness was known throughout the wizarding world. With the other pure-blood families backing his campaign, there was no way Gaunt would lose.  _

_ Which was why Hadrian had to kill him. The man’s position against half-bloods and muggleborns could not be allowed to reach power. It also had to be Hadrian, much to his chagrin. Out of his group he was the strongest, the one who had the highest chance against Gaunt. He was also the one who had the easiest time slipping past practically unnoticed. _

_ The ball was in full swing, Gaunt’s followers already celebrating his win though there has yet to be a final vote. People were dancing, bodies pressing against him as he pushed through the crowd, a pit forming in his stomach the deeper he fell into the mass, the closer he got to his target.  _

_ “It’s  _ you _.” _

_ Something in him started singing, his thoughts coming to a screeching halt, only able to think,  _ “Not now, please I can’t find my soulmate now, not  _ here _ .” _ He tried desperately not to look in the direction of the honey smooth voice, so warm and pleased of his presence, but the bond, already strengthened by their closeness, made it difficult to look anywhere else.  _

_ Warm fingers wrapped around his arm, sending a sizzling heat through his body as their connection reinforced itself even further, his eyes snapping to man the hand belonged to. He felt his eyes widen in horror at the man standing beside him, a lazy smirk on his face.  _

_ “Gaunt,” the name slipped out in a breathy whisper, a warm flush settling on his cheeks as the man eyed him up and down.  _

_ “I seem to be at a disadvantage, you know my name,” Gaunt pressed closer, his tone amused as he traced Hadrian’s cheek. “Yet, I have never seen you before. Enlighten me of your name, my dear?”  _

_ Hadrian could feel the overwhelming need to answer him, and immediately understood why so many people would follow him. Everything in him itched to hear Gaunt speak once more, to hear that calm, honey rich voice press against his very core. The only thing stopping him from announcing to the whole world his name was that this was the man he was supposed to kill; the man that hated him just because of his blood. _

_ “ _ No _ , I- I’m sorry. I can’t.” He could feel a spike of pain as he pulled out of the man’s - his  _ soulmate’s _ \- arms, trying desperately to think of a way to escape. He couldn’t complete his plan, he failed, and it was all his fault. _

_ Gaunt held strong, pulling Hadrian flush against his chest. “You don’t have to tell me your name yet, if you don’t want to. Just dance with me, once. You can leave after, if you’d like, just give me this  _ one dance _.” _

_ It was a losing fight, he was nodding, his body relaxing in Gaunt’s hold, his mind going blank. It must of been Gaunt’s strength against him, he decided, as he allowed himself to be led further into the dance floor. He didn’t recognize the song, certainly didn’t know how to do whatever dance was going on around them, but Gaunt, his  _ soulmate _ , kept him close, ignored their fellow dancers as they moved to their own beat. _

_ Hadrian laid his head on his soulmate’s chest, listening to the man’s heartbeat and breathing in his scent, wondering how he could have ever wanted to murder  _ this _. _

* * *

 

Harry was slow to wake, the bond still pressing pleased curls of content against his thoughts as he slept. His body felt cramped, yet well rested, something covering him to block out the chill of the room. Oddly enough, he felt  _ cared for _ . 

He opened his eyes, stretching slowly to pull himself into a seated position. He didn’t recall there being a lounge in Tom’s office earlier, but here he was, seated across one, body covered by one of the man’s robes. He stretched again, pulling the robe tighter across his body to fully hide his nakedness, before finally noticing the man sitting behind the desk. 

Tom was eyeing him lazily, leaned back in his seat, shirt untucked and unbuttoned. Harry could feel himself staring at the expanse of pale flesh in front of him, trying desperately not to let it show on his face. By the look in Tom’s eyes, he must have failed.

“Certainly an interesting experience,” Tom’s voice was a heavy purr, pulling a shiver out of Harry’s body. “You’ve certainly scarred your guards, but that was your goal, wasn’t it?

Harry nodded, embarrassed, staying silent as the other man continued to watch him. His mind raced through everything that had gone on through the past few days, to what had led up to that moment. To what had gotten him there in the first place, his back pressed up against a door, naked as the day he was born.

“Am I,” His voice was quiet, harsh and grating against the calm of the room, “Am I allowed to ask you for something?”

He lowered his eyes, running his fingers along the smooth fabric of the robe, feeling an odd sense of calm from being surrounded by something of his soulmate’s, combined with the man’s scent. He had to fight the urge to nuzzle the cloth, to huddle further into its warmth as he tried to focus on the moment at hand.

Tom hummed lightly, a thoughtful sound instead of the angry one he had grown so used to. “It depends on what you’re asking for. As my soulmate, I will try to give you whatever I can, but as a Dark Lord, there are things I will not.”

Harry was shocked by the honesty, wondering what he could of done to bring it out in the man. He searched his expression, finding only truth in his words. It gave him hope.

“I want protection for my friends.”

It started out slow, a quiet, undignified snort escaping the man, before it turned into a vicious laughter. Tom’s shoulders shook with his amusement, eyes closed and head thrown back. Harry could probably count his teeth if he felt like it.

“You think I care about your  _ friends _ ? Those meaningless specks of nothing that I only had a use for when they were around you?” Tom’s amusement was over just as quickly as it began, eyes now serious as they raked across Harry’s body. “Consider them safe as long as they stay out of my way. If they join the opposing forces, consider them dead.”

Harry pulled the robe even tighter, uncomfortable under the other man’s gaze. “Of course they’re going to fight you! They’re afraid of you, they hate you, they hate what you’re doing! You’re an awful, evil man, Tom!”

Tom’s eyes raked across him once more, a slow, lazy leer forming on his face, as if he could see perfectly through the robe Harry was wrapped in. “Is that so? You didn’t mind so much that I was an “awful, evil man,” while I was  _ fucking  _ you against that door, when you were  _ screaming my name _ like it was the only word you knew.”

Harry could feel the angry, embarrassed blush on his cheeks, mortified as Tom continued. “Do you even know what it is I’m doing, Harry? Or, are you just accepting whatever Dumbledore fed you? Would you so willingly have given your life for that man, without knowing why I even started this war in the first place?”

Tom was standing suddenly, forcing himself into Harry’s space, hand wrapping firmly around Harry’s chin. “This is a war, Harry. If my soldiers happened upon one of your so-called friends on the battle-field how are they to know? All they know is to kill the enemy, and at that moment, your friends are the enemy. Afterwards, if they’re still alive, I’ll let you have their killer to punish as you see fit, but this. Is. War. It they’re on the wrong side, they. Will.  _ Die _ .”

Harry wanted to fight it, fight the feeling of horror and pain that filled him at the other man’s words, but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt that Tom was right. He wanted so badly to deny it, to deny that truth, deny that no matter what happened, his friends would be looking for him, would want to fight this evil that stood in the shoes of his soulmate, and his friends would  **_die_ ** . And it would be his fault, unless-

_ Unless. . . _

“Can I talk to them?” His fingers lightly wrapped around Tom’s wrist, a surge of hope filling him, his body pressing forward into the man’s warmth. “Please, Tom? Let me speak to them, warn them. Hermione already knows I’m here, if I told her she’d listen!”

He could feel the sting of tears filling his eyes, the heat of anger and worry settling in his cheeks. Leaning forward, pushing himself past the hold Tom had on him to press his face into the man’s chest, the loose fabric of his shirt wiping gently at Harry’s cheeks. “Please, Tom? Please? Let me warn them? Tell them that if they stay out of it they’ll live? Please?”

Tom’s hands moved slowly, releasing his chin to press into his hair, to grip against his shoulder, pushing the robe down as he explored. “Oh, Harry. My dear, sweet, oh-so-naive  _ Harry _ .”

The hand in his hair got rough, pulling and ripping the strands as it lifted his head from Tom’s chest, eyes wide and mouth agape in a groan. He squeaked, loud and shocked as a wet warmth swiped against his cheeks in the form of Tom’s tongue before he forced it into Harry’s mouth, absorbing Harry’s surprised sound in a sloppy semblance of a kiss.

Harry could taste the salt left behind from his own tears on Tom’s tongue, could feel his body shiver as the man gripped him closer and tighter, absorbing the very breath from him. An odd need to scream bubbled within him, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, but he let it happen. Let himself feel like he was giving up a piece of himself in hopes of a chance for his friends to live. Even as another part of himself soothed the loss, bursting in a bubble of content of the other man’s touches, something felt like he was hurting himself in the process.

It was long and slow, different from the ones he had grown so used to, just as demanding, controlling his every thought as Tom plundered his mouth. Yet, somehow, the slowness seemed even more controlling as it ripped a groan from Harry’s throat. When he was finally released from its enticing domination, he was tempted to chase the trail of spit still connecting their lips.

“ _ Oh, my  _ **_darling_ ** .” Tom hissed, his thumb pressing almost  _ lovingly _ against Harry’s lip, surly red and swollen now. His eyes, the bright vermilion searching Harry’s face with a heavy leer forming on his face. “I’ll think on it. I will tell you that much, but,”

He pressed a quick kiss, barely a touch of their lips, pulling back with a wide, knowing grin. “First, you must do something for me.”

Harry nodded, eyes wide and unblinking, believing he already knew what Tom wanted of him;  _ hoping _ he already knew what Tom wanted of him, his body already aching at the idea. He entangled his fingers into the fabric of the man’s shirt, trying to pull himself, or Tom he wasn’t quite sure, closer. 

Tom chuckled, allowing the movement and gently running his fingers through Harry’s hair, as if soothing his earlier transgressions. “There’s a meeting tonight, and you will be expected to join us.”

Harry’s thoughts stopped short, body stilling in shock and confused horror. “Wh-what? Tom, Tom no-” Harry was shaking his head, unable to control the words spilling from his mouth, even as the man laughed at him. “Not that, Tom, please, I can’t look at those people.”

“You  _ will _ look, you will listen, and you will learn.” Tom was on him once more, hands pressing against his face, pushing him into the lounge at an odd, uncomfortable angle. “Have you forgotten that they’ve already  _ seen _ you? They know you are here, that you are  **_mine_ ** . They will not accept any weakness, and you will be there tonight as show of our strength. You will be given your wand, you can take your frustrations out on them if you please, but you  _ will _ be there.”

Tom pushed forward, breath pressing against Harry’s ear as he thrashed, trying to escape from the weight of the older man. “Don’t forget, Harry, if you want even the chance of communicating with your  _ friends _ , you  **_will_ ** do what I say.”

He was off of Harry just as quickly as he had crowded into his space, leaving him shivering and alone in the man’s office. 

* * *

 

_ “Harry.” _

The whispered word, his name, said so fondly in a voice he recognized, yet was so distantly  _ not  _ in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was deep and soothing, like a voice he had once urged to be under its influence, yet he could not place where he had heard it before.

_ “Harry, my love.” _

All Harry could do was shake his head, trying to force the sound of the voice from his mind. It had begun so quietly, he had barely heard it over the sound of the shower, but now, as he sat silently on the bed, waiting for Tom or his guards to escort him to the meeting, the whispers of his name were loud and clear. 

_ “Harry, are you listening to me?” _

“No! I’m not! Leave me alone!” He pressed his hands against his ears, trying desperately to drown out the sounds. The voice was amused, soft and loving as it wrapped around his thoughts, pressing into his mind, and he  _ hated _ it. 

Knocks sounded loudly at the door. “Young Lord Harry? Is everything alright?”

“ _ Fuck off! _ ” The hiss stung as it ripped through his throat, and he hated that he could sense how quickly the guard backed away from the door in fear.

_ “Harry, wake up, love.” _

Something in him knew what was happening, but whatever it was had never been recorded before. Never in any of the books he read had this kind of hell been mentioned. He felt like he was going insane, every memory and thought blasting at him at once like through a loudspeaker.

“W-wake up?” 

_ A smooth hand caressed across his arm, over his shoulder, laying him against a warm chest. He felt happy, a calm wave he hasn’t felt in a while washing over him as he laid with this mystery man with the voice that seemed to call him through time. Even relaxed as he was, it took him a moment to realize his eyes were closed. _

_ And with an oddly happy sigh, his eyes fluttered open, and spotted his unknown caller. “Erik. . .” _

_ “Ah, there you are, my love. I was beginning to wonder when you would wake.” His hand changed direction, entangling lightly into Harry -  _ **no** _ \- Hadrian’s hair. _

_ He laughed, almost more of a giggle, pressing closer to his lovely soulmate. He tried to remember why he was panicked before, but slowly decided upon it being a distant dream. He was here now, in the arms of the man he loved, waiting to hear the final news on the race for Minister. _

_ “I’m sorry for falling asleep, you just made me so comfortable, I had no choice.” He nuzzled his love’s shoulder, content to be laid there, happiness seeping from his being. “Did I miss anything?” _

_ Erik chuckled, his voice rich and inviting as it wrapped around his thoughts. “My darling, I only asked you the most important question of my life.” _

_ “And what question was that?” He shifted, leaning over the man’s chest to look contentedly in his soulmate’s eyes. He ran his fingers lightly along Erik’s jaw, enjoying the light scratch of the man’s stubble. _

_ “Will you marry me?” _

_ The question threw him off, stopping him short as his hands stilled in their search. His mind blanked, if only for a moment as he struggled to breathe at the question. “What?” _

_ A part of him soared with happiness, the idea of marrying the man he loved being a gift he never thought he could ask for but. . . “No, no I’m sorry, Erik, I can’t.” _

_ He pulled away, pulling himself forcibly out of Erik’s arms, even as the man struggled to hold him close. A pain formed in his chest, terrible and strong as he saw the devastated look in his soulmate’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Erik! I love you so much, but I’m not who you think I am, I can’t marry you like this. You’re my soulmate, and you’re everything I could ask for, but I’m not-” _

_ The sob broke through, his body collapsing as he tried to control himself. If only Erik knew of his true nature, of where his bloodline truly fell, his soulmate would hate him, despise his very name, and he didn’t think he could take it. Just the very feeling of Erik’s arms wrapping around him, attempting to console him, made him feel worse. _

_ “What is wrong, Harry? Please, please tell me, and I’ll do whatever I can to make this better.” Erik pressed kiss after kiss to his head, rocking them together in an attempt to comfort. “Please, Harry.” _

_ “That’s not my name!” The scream burned his throat, his sobs loud and pained. “My name’s Hadrian! I am a Selwyn bastard, but I’m not a pureblood. I’m a half-blooded bastard.” _

_ Erik’s arms stilled around him, and his sobs worsened, body shaking with their force. He knew it, now Erik hated him, and he would be condemned and he would never be able to see the love of his life again.  _

_ “I thought so.”  _

_ “What?” His question was quiet, nearly a whisper in comparison to his earlier shouts. He looked up, catching Erik’s amused glance, his sad expression still lingering beneath it.  _

_ “Did you not notice the changes I’ve made to my legislation? It was for you, Harr- Hadrian.” Erik’s hand gently lifted Hadrian’s chin, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I noticed you were different, Love. I could only guess that you were a half-blood, and honestly, I don’t care anymore. I love you, Hadrian.” _

_ Hadrian could feel his lip trembling, his eyes watery as he stared in wonder at his soulmate. Something felt different, suddenly, as if peace had been laid back over them.  _

“Harry.”

_ “I told you, my name’s-” _

“ **Harry!** ”

* * *

 

He blinked the weariness from his eyes, blank and confused, wondering when he had fallen asleep. Red eyes glared into his, concerned and irritated, and he wanted to scream. Wanted to question, where was Erik, where was his soulmate?

It was slow to come to him, but it seemed his question was already answered. The man before him, Tom, his mind supplied, was Erik, just in a different form, in a different time. The similarities were obvious in their voices, how the sound was able to call out to him and pull him from his memories and thoughts.

“My apologies, Tom. Did I fall asleep?” His head tilted, a delicate smile on his lips. 

Tom looked confused, if only for a moment, his hand pressing against Harry’s forehead as if checking for a temperature. “Is this your way of trying to back out of the meeting? You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

“Oh, no, my dear. I’m rather excited to see what you’re doing actually.” He changed position, shifting beneath the older man’s body and feeling the tense confusion in his form. “You did accuse me of accepting whatever I was fed earlier, maybe you’ve made me interested in seeing you’re side of things.”

Tom’s raised eyebrow almost made him giggle, but he somehow still had enough sense to hold it in. His eyes raked across Harry’s body, mind pressing against Harry’s thoughts as if to see if there were some falsehood in his words. “August?”

He hummed quietly, letting the name roll across his thoughts pleasantly. “ _ Nope. _ ”

Seemingly satisfied, Tom pulled back, holding his hand out for Harry to take. “Come, then. I believe we have a meeting to get to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions, comments, or just want to chat you can find me on [tumblr](https://fairytales-andfuckery.tumblr.com/)!  
> If you have an extra $3 and would like to help support me and my work please consider looking at my Ko-Fi, link on my tumblr or look me up under the same name. I also now have a patreon!  
> I don't know if I've mentioned it here yet, but I love giving away hints as to whats going to happen in the comments when people ask questions. I think I may have given a few pretty interesting ones already, and it also really helps me get out of this block. So, if you have any questions, be it about the world, how the soulmate system works, the general story, or just about this chapter, I would love to answer them! And give out a few hints too ;)


	10. Harry or Hadrian?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to preface this chapter by stating that neither Harry or "Hadrian" or like themselves in this. This is not something either of them would do under normal circumstances.  
> We have some trigger warnings for torture and blood in this, I don't think it's too bad, but I just want to warn y'all.

“Lord Harry, would it be terribly rude of me to inquire of your health?” 

The quiet question threw him, confusion tensing through his previously relaxed state where he was leaned against the wall, waiting for the call to welcome him inside the meeting. His eyes fluttered open, sliding to look at the woman who was meant to prepare him for the goings on inside the room; meant to escort him inside when it was time. Narcissa had a worried look in her eyes where they stared down at his hands resting delicately across his midsection.

Harry hummed lightly, tilting his head as he watched her, wondering what could cause the strong woman such concern. “However do you mean, Madame?”

Narcissa’s eyes snapped to his, clear yet somehow distant as she searched his face for something. She seemed pale, paler than normal, her body stiff as she stepped closer to him, her hand cautiously pressing against his where it lay against his stomach. Her breath seemed to stutter for a moment, her skin cool against his.

“Did- Did you know I studied to be a healer, before I married?”

There was a shocking energy flowing from where they touched, and Harry first believed it was simply the feel of an unfamiliar touch, but no- a sudden realization hit him that there was a spell flowing through his system, making him long to reach for the wand hiding inside his robes; to protect himself from whatever energy she was forcing through him. It was only the reminder that this was  _ Narcissa  _ and that she wouldn’t dare hurt him that stopped him from reaching for it. 

“Narcissa?” His voice seemed to pull her out of her quiet stupor, her hand snatching away from him in a sudden alarm. “Is something wrong?”

She was backing away from him, a lost, sad sort of horror settling across her prim features; even as he stepped after her, matching her step for step. His hand was outstretched towards her as he watched with growing concern her trying to reign in her sudden emotions. He opened his mouth to speak, to try to calm her, when the door clicked beside them, slowly creaking open to welcome them into the room. 

Narcissa’s hand was cold, sudden as it wrapped around his wrist, all signs of her former doubt pushed down by her elegant strength. The so familiar Slytherin-mask had returned, her features smoothed, head held high as she led him inside. 

Harry knew then he had two choices, to focus on his concern for her, or focus on the group of eyes that had suddenly zeroed in on him. Strange and familiar eyes searched him, as if picking apart the seams of the delicate robe Tom had him dressed in, trying to find a weakness in his stance, in his perfectly crafted expressionless mask. However, Narcissa’s lessons were too good, familiar memories wracking his brain as he took measured, leisurely steps towards the pedestal.

Tom was waiting there for him, hand outstretched, pride glowing in his rich vermillion eyes, something else, akin to  _ arousal _ warping its way through as the man eyed the deep green robes that sat firmly against Harry’s skin.

His hand was cool against Harry’s skin, though nowhere near as frigid as Narcissa’s had been as she left him to go stand by her husband. Harry only had a few moments to straighten himself out upon the pedestal, and to send one final worried thought towards the matronly woman before Tom began to speak. 

 “As many of you know, soulmates are a thing to be treasured. They are rare now, have fallen into obscurity, and it is now believed that only the strongest are able to have soulmates in this time. Only the stronger still survive it.” Tom motioned towards him, presenting him to a room full of his past enemies, of murderers and thieves. 

“Many years ago, my first soulmate was lost to me, murdered by our enemies.” Tom continued, despite Harry’s confused glance, “I am the only known person to have ever survived the death of their soulmate, and now, he has returned to me in the form of Harry Potter.”

The crowd gave a hushed reply; confused, concerned, and angered stares boring its way into Harry’s body and thoughts. He ignored them, instead focusing on the intricate glamour covering his soulmate’s form as the man’s pale, serpentine body circled its way around him, as if showing him off to his followers. Long fingers rested delicately against his jaw, lifting his head and baring his throat openly; and he could have sighed at the feeling, knowing that he could feel the true strength and smoothness of his soulmate’s handsome form hiding beneath that beautiful, scaly monster.

“Harry Potter has accepted his place at my side, has accepted his true role as  _ mine _ . He is now to be considered as your Lord and you will show him the same respect, if not more, than me.” Tom’s hand moved away from his jaw, down his throat, to rest on his shoulder. “He is to be  _ protected _ . What has happened in the past will not happen again, our enemies shall not  _ touch him _ . Do you understand?”

There was a quiet chorus of “Yes, My Lord,” understanding and almost praising as the sound wrapped around them. Tom’s grip tightened, pleased, leading him from the front of the pedestal and seating him into a throne, smaller and less intricate than the one beside it, but a throne nonetheless. It was distracting, burning cold through his robes. 

Almost distracting him from the glares of pure hatred and disdain pointed directly at him. 

A hand wrapped firmly around Harry’s wrist, his eyes snapping to watch Tom in his Voldemort persona sit cooly in the larger throne, his own crimson gaze raking across his crowd of followers. He didn’t seem pleased by all of their reactions, yet relaxed into his own seat.

“The floor is open, I expect to hear  _ good _ news.” 

Harry watched them all, barely hearing them as they came forward to explain how well or how terribly they did at whatever mission they had in the grand scheme. Some weak willed members fidgeted under the weight of his stare, while others chose to ignore him; as he was ignoring their words, his thoughts entirely focused on the hand gripping his wrist, pressure changing as the man extended praise or punishment toward his wayward subjects. 

It was oddly easy to relax in this place, something in him saying he was used to this, though he couldn’t exactly remember the where, when, or why. This was where he belonged, sitting beside his soulmate in a place of power, feeling the extent of the man’s magical strength float across his skin, being surrounded by people eager to please them. 

His hand moved without thought, separating their skin for but a moment before tangling their fingers together, leaning against his other hand with a bored expression. Tom sent a somewhat shocked, yet pleased thought through their link, and he could feel himself responding with an excited thrum and smile. 

If he smiled wider when several of the Death Eaters looked horrified, it could hardly be his fault.

“I expect this to be over soon, it seems Harry and I have our own private meeting to get to.” 

Harry snorted at the teasing tone, having to hold himself back from full out laughter. “My dear, if you think you’re getting anything from me after saying it like that, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He grinned when the man laughed, sensing the sheer terror of every person in the room when someone- _Harry Potter_ \- spoke to _Lord_ _Voldemort_ in such a way. It was almost intoxicating, joking with the man that caused fear in so many and tasting the raw power he had to even do such a thing in front of the man’s followers, feeling every ounce of horror rolling off of them as they spoke to each other. 

Too bad their lovely moment had to be ruined.

“My Lord! I simply cannot stand for this!”

Their eyes locked onto the woman pushing her way through the crowd, her voice a loud screech, practically foaming at the mouth as she forced her way before them. Harry’s mind raced at the sight of her, memories colliding, thoughts trying desperately to connect unrelated dots as to who she was.

“Bellatrix, what is the meaning of this?” At the sound of Voldemort’s voice the room went still, a silence falling over them all as they waited to hear the woman try to explain her interruption. 

“My Lord, this cannot be!  _ He _ is your enemy, what if he has magicked you somehow! Tricked you into allowing him into our meeting, to find out our secrets!” Her voice was almost a screech, proud and angry as she leveled her finger at Harry.

It made him angry, fueling from something he couldn’t quite remember, but the fury was so similar. A fire was building in his chest as she continued to rant, her finger pointed directly at him, something so achingly familiar. . . He wanted to scream in frustration.

“Do you dare think me so weak to be confounded by a mere boy, Bellatrix? Is that what you are trying to say?” Voldemort’s cold, angry voice soothed him a bit, but somehow that was still familiar to him.

And then it hit. 

_ Their leader stepped forward, a Black perhaps, a tall, angular man with a sly grin on his lips. He was chuckling along with the others, though his wand was the only one pointed downward, as he stepped closer. He had always been one of the more. . . vocal about his and Erik’s engagement, something Hadrian noted immediately. _

_ He could only push himself back in his seat, trying to lean as far away as possible from the other man, as he grabbed his chin and leaned in close.  _

_ “What a pretty little thing to have such fight, no wonder he likes you so much.” Another round of laughter flooded the room as the man spoke, his grin widening, “How about this, you suck my cock half as good as you supposedly do Gaunt’s, and I’ll let you live as a little pet, hm? Right where you belong.” _

_ He felt his fury behind his eyes, an unmatched anger that he could barely reign in as the other spoke. The cries of his name, “Hadrian! Hadrian!” blasted against his eardrums, and he wanted nothing more than to make these people bloodstains against the floor. _

_ He always knew these bastards were hypocrites, so willing to call half-bloods disgusting and sexual deviants, but then so happy to put their cocks in the face of who they just insulted. Believing themselves so high and mighty, but also throwing out that half-bloods must have some ability to control the minds of the apparently greater pure bloods. They were full of bullshit. _

_ Hadrian knew they would kill him, there was no way he was getting out of there alive, but he knew for sure that that Black family branch ended with him. _

There was a growl in his chest, his body rising from his seat without thought. He felt a fire behind his eyes, his heart beating with an uncontrolled fury.  _ Murderer. Murderer.  _ **_Murderer._ ** _ Against me, against Tom. Killed someone. . . important! _

There was a different kind of stillness in the air, one with trembling fear and a curious concern coming from  _ Tom, his Tom. _ Bellatrix’s breath stuttered in a gasp, her eyes meeting his in a shock of fear, apparently seeing something new, something she didn’t like, something she  _ recognized _ . She curled into herself in shock, yet her insanity seemed to hold strong, obviously planning to spew more filth from her disgusting mind. 

“ _ Shh _ , shh shh shh,” He held his finger against his lips, eyes glaring down at her as she seemed to recoil in a new kind of shock- a building fury at the idea of him shushing her, as if he were above her in some way. He ignored her reaction for a moment, flashing to the man still seated comfortably on his throne, watching the goings on with growing amusement. 

“I believe I was promised the ability to ‘take out my frustrations’ on your lowly followers?” He could feel every scrape his tongue took against his grit teeth, the blinding fury building closer and closer to the base of his skull. 

Voldemort chuckled, red eyes sliding between Harry and Bellatrix, taking in the scene in all its glory. “I had no clue you would actually take me up on my offer, however, Lord Voldemort does not give out empty promises. You may proceed.”

He nodded, taking in Bellatrix’s new stance with a grin. She seemed to have gathered herself, though completely by-passing what the Dark Lord had just said. It would only make it more entertaining to put her in her place. 

“What’s this? Itty bitty baby Potter suddenly grown a spine? Finally learned how to spell a proper crucio?” 

Her screeching words pulled at memories that were locked down deep, hidden in the depths of his own horrors. And he pushed it down further, instead focusing on the woman before him. His magic twitched, ready to be used and wielded like a weapon, his grin widening as he let it release into the air.

“Why don’t you do something useful? Like,  _ kneel _ .” There was a thump when her knees hit the ground, his magic curling and pressing into her bones and flesh, forcing her further and further into the marble floor. He swore he could feel every crack, every wince as she flailed.

It was like a sigh of release, a breath of fresh air as his magic wielded to him, as it moved like a perfect extension of himself. It felt like it had been too long since he had used his power, his magic flaring against him like an angered crowd.

“You know, I think I once knew one of your great-uncles. Awful son of a bitch, he was. Narcissa, do you know the one I’m talking about, died in a coup against the ministry?” 

His eyes found the matron in the crowd, her horrified eyes on her sister crouching on the floor. “Arcturus, I believe, my Lord. He- he was burned from the family tree, pledged to be forgotten about because he was-”

She paused, refusing to look at him as she spoke. There was too much realization in her eyes, something he didn’t like resting there. 

“He was what, dear lady? Killed by a half-blood? Yes, I do believe that was me.” He stepped off of the pedestal, enjoying the rush of feeling his magic reconnect to him through the marble. “He was going to marry one of his cousins, wasn’t he? Lycoris? Wasn’t it? Awful woman, but she didn’t deserve that. He did deserve his punishment though.”

As he reached the still scrambling woman, trying to force her way off the ground, he laid his hand on her wild curls, feeling each tangle as he pushed further into her hair. She screeched, trying to buck and knock his hand off, but he only tightened it, digging his nails into her scalp and forcing her eyes to look into his.

“Have you ever felt a man’s cock? Held it in your hand as it swells, full of blood and other nasty little juices? Ever had it explode in your grip, but not in the fun way?” He leaned even closer to her, so he could see his own crazed expression reflected in her eyes. “I did that to dear old Arcturus. His cock popped like a little balloon. His screaming was lovely, blood absolutely decadent.”

He released her with a push, watching her back hit the ground. His magic swarmed, attacking and holding her down as she flailed and fought against it. He could see it in her eyes, a fearful sort of understanding that she had fucked up, that his power outweighed hers.

“You see, he shouldn’t have stuck his cock in my face.” He stepped on her, pressing his boot against her sternum; not enough to cause pain, not yet, but certainly enough for her to know it was there. “So tell me, Bellatrix. Are you trying to stick your cock in my face?”

“N-no my Lord.” Bellatrix spoke through gritted teeth, like the words pained her to speak. He almost giggled at the power rush.

“Are you sure? Because it seems like you’re trying to stick your cock in my face.” He pressed down harder with his heel, feeling her take in a shaky breath. “I’ll just have to train that out of you, dear.”

He snapped his fingers, for the show of it really, his magic crackling in the air, wiggling and forcing its way into her skin. Each pinprick of magic stabbed through her flesh, digging into her bones. He could feel every crack and whine her bones made, could hear every gasp and choke she sounded as she tried not to scream. It was intoxicating. 

“Did you know, I was a trained assassin in my day. I killed nearly twenty pretty little pure-bloods the day I died, and the only way they stopped me was by killing him. I still wish I had killed more.” 

Blood vessels began popping in her eyes, leaving them almost as red as Voldemort’s. Skin began to peel up from her body, the force of his magic leaving behind burns as it rose up, only to dive back inside. He pressed deeper, feeling the pulse and flutter of her organs inside, and with a smile, decided to squeeze. 

Finally. She screamed. 

It wasn’t much different than her usual screeching, loud and high-pitched, but something about it was much sweeter. Her whole body shook with the force of her scream, her head cracking against the floor. Harry swore he could see Death Eaters backing away from the scene quickly as blood began to pool beneath her.

“Harry.”

He cackled, energy feeling lighter as he watched Bellatrix writhe in pain. He couldn’t quite remember what she had done to him, all he knew was that she deserved this, she deserved this pain. She deserved death.

“Harry!”

He ignored the voice calling out to him, pressing his magic further and further into the woman’s body, driving it to destroy.

“ **Harry!** ”

“That’s not my name!” He didn’t even turn to the person angrily calling that name, his eyes glued to the sight of Bellatrix screaming underneath him. He could feel his own body twitching, aching with release and  _ freedom _ . His chest burned with power, his head felt like it had been stabbed through, but this. . . This was what he needed.

“Hadrian!”

That name stopped him. That  _ voice _ gave him pause. His magic turned to ice, freezing in the air around him just as his eyes widened in surprise. He turned to her call, green locking with blue, bright intelligence lighting up behind the terror in her eyes. Her body blocked her family’s as her stare matched his evenly and assured.

“Narcissa,” His voice was barely a whisper, hardly noticeable even in the silence of the room, “how- how do you know-”

“Harry.”

The other voice called for him again,  _ Voldemort’s _ voice, clear and commanding his attention. He turned towards it slowly, fear slicing at his heart as his mind raced, looking at what he had  _ done _ . He almost stopped to ask himself,  _ “Why?” _

Voldemort’s eyes were practically glowing with curiosity, his previous anger simmering beneath the surface, for now. He seemed to be staring into Harry’s soul, absorbing what information he could, before looking out once more at his terrified followers. There seemed to be pride in his eyes, yet he held it in for the moment, his eyes tracing back to Harry’s shaking form.

“I gave you permission to hurt, not to  _ kill _ . Bellatrix is still one of my most loyal, we still require her.”

Harry could feel the growl building up in his throat again at the idea that the horrid woman was  _ required _ in his soulmate’s eyes, yet lowered his eyes to the man’s will. He nodded sagely, ignoring the want to either finish Bellatix off, or break down crying at the idea of what he had done.

“My apologies. I. . . I seem to have gone too far. I will take my leave now.” He turned to leave, not waiting for permission, his steps loud against the marble, every eye in the room on him. They felt different now, the way they stared, as if he was something interesting and fearful, instead of something weak. 

At the last moment he turned back, taking in the scene once more of Bellatrix’s body sprawled on the ground. His thoughts seemed to race in different directions at the sight, yet his voice escaped him. “I do believe she is going to need to be healed. I may have caused her uterus to start. . . rotting.”

There was a burst of laughter from Voldemort, and Harry, oddly, smiled serenely as the doors slammed closed behind him. 

* * *

 

The moment the door closed, he could feel the energy around him change. He took a few slow steps, chest aching, his body feeling like it was trying to betray him, when what happened in the meeting room finally caught up to him. The smile fell from his face, replaced with panic and tears, as he hurriedly stepped away from the horrors racing in his mind, not quite running, not really walking. 

“Lord Harry! Lord Harry, please!” 

Narcissa’s voice followed him through the halls, even as he tried desperately to rush away from the meeting room, away from what he had done. Her steps were just as quick was his, knowing her own home better than he could ever hope. Still, he tried to race from the matronly woman, afraid of what he would see in her eyes. 

“Harry, please wait! I just want to help you!” Her voice was gentle in its calling, as if he was simply a lost child.

He stopped in his tracks, turning to face her head on as she stepped closer. If she noticed the panicked tears in his eyes, she said nothing of it. He eyed her with suspicion, backing up when she stepped too close.

“Wouldn’t you rather be helping your sister? I did practically kill her in there.” His voice was harsh, grating.

“I fear that you may need more help than she does. I have seen what dark magic can do to those who aren’t used to it.” She looked like she wanted to reach out to touch him, to embrace him in some comfort, but he could still remember the feeling of her spelling tracing along his skin. He backed away more.

She looked disappointed, almost sad, yet she continued. “I- I wasn’t certain about who you truly were until today, you must forgive me. There were so many factors I had to consider, and I didn’t know if maybe the Dark Lord was perhaps using you in some way, but. . . You had so many facts, you presented thoughts from your past life so clearly, I-”

“Narcissa!” He didn’t mean to yell, really. He simply wanted to catch her attention, to hurry her up so he could leave, so he could try to forget about the things he had said and done. “ _ Narcissa _ , sorry. Could you please, get to the point.”

Her cheeks tinted pink for a moment, shocking him more. She looked around, as if making sure no one was around to hear them, before stepping closer in a conspiratorial manner. She took in a shaking breath, and finally, spoke in a near silent whisper.

“I have something that belongs to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super sorry this chapter took me so long! Even though I was so excited for this chapter and the next one, for some reason it was really fighting me. I have been actively writing this chapter alone for nearly 3 months and I'm so happy to finally get it out to you all.   
> As always, if you have any questions/comments or just want to chat here's my [tumblr](https://fairytales-andfuckery.tumblr.com/)  
> And if you like my work and would like to support me, I have a ko-fi and a patreon, links on my tumblr page :)  
> Thank you so much for being patient with me guys! I love reading your comments and seeing what you think about my work keeps me going.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any questions, comments, or just want to get to know me you can find me on [tumblr](http://fairytales-andfuckery.tumblr.com/)!  
> And if you ever have and extra $3 and would like to support me and my work you can find my ko-fi link on my tumblr page.


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